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Historical Social Research The Official Journal Cornel Zwierlein & Beatrice de Graaf (Eds.): of QUANTUM and Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st Century Historische Sozialforschung INTERQUANT This Special Issue combines both of the recently emerging fields – conspiracy and security history – for the first time by asking how we can conceive their parallel history from the Renaissance to the present. The new situation of international and national security regimes after the Cold War has not only placed security studies at the top of the Political Science agenda, but is also currently causing the emergence of a new field of security history. Likewise, Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theories have found a new great interest in the post- Cold War constellation, particularly following 9/11. There has been hitherto no attempt to conceptualize the development of Security and Conspiracy in a longue durée perspective. Remaining sensitive to the ancient and medieval forerunners, we nevertheless assume that both fully developed conspiracy theories and ‘security’ as a leading political aim are phenomena mainly found in modern history. Both can be treated as dispositives in a Foucauldian sense which challenge each other – real or imagined conspiracies are threats to the security of the state or the commonwealth. Both Security and Conspiracy need to be carefully historicized. This Special Issue offers a sketch of the supposed development of the combined dispositives throughout modern history in addition to a theoretical approach. The contributions combine case studies and methodological reflections from the Renaissance to 9/11 with a majority concerning the ‘high’ and ‘late modern’ periods since 1880. International pioneers, as well as young researchers in the field of conspiracy and security history, have contributed.

Der Büchsenschiffter

Special Issue: Security and Conspiracy in History

HSR Vol. 38 ISSN 2013

0172-6404 1 Special Issue: Security and Conspiracy 38 2013 HSR Vol. No. 1 The Journal: Scope & Imprint

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Special Issue

Beatrice de Graaf & Cornel Zwierlein (Eds.) Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st Century

Mixed Issue

Articles

No. 143 HSR Vol. 38 (2013) 1 The Journal: Editorial Board

Editors

Heinrich Best (Jena), Wilhelm H. Schröder (Cologne)

Co-operating Editors

Nina Baur (Berlin), Onno Boonstra (Nijmegen), Joanna Bornat (Milton Keynes), Franz Breuer (Münster), Leen Breure (Utrecht), Christoph Classen (Potsdam), Jürgen Danyel (Potsdam), Bert De Munck (Antwerp), Rainer Diaz-Bone (Lucerne), Claude Didry (Paris), Claude Diebolt (Strasbourg), Peter Doorn (Amsterdam), Georg Fertig (Halle), Gudrun Gersmann (Cologne), Karen Hagemann (Chapel Hill, NC), M. Michaela Hampf (Berlin), Rüdiger Hohls (Berlin), Jason Hughes (London), Ralph Jessen (Cologne), Claire Judde de Larivière (Toulouse), Hans Jørgen Marker (Gothen- burg), Johannes Marx (Bamberg), Rainer Metz (Cologne), Günter Mey (Berlin), Jürgen Mittag (Cologne), Katja Mruck (Berlin), Dieter Ohr (Berlin), Thomas Rahlf (Cologne), Kai Ruffing (Marburg), Kevin Schürer (Leicester), Jürgen Sensch (Cologne), Manfred Thaller (Cologne), Helmut Thome (Halle), Paul W. Thurner (Munich), Roland Wenzlhuemer (Heidelberg)

Consulting Editors

Erik W. Austin (Ann Arbor), Francesca Bocchi (Bologna), Leonid Borodkin (Moscow), Gerhard Botz (Vienna), Christiane Eisenberg (Berlin), Josef Ehmer (Vienna), Richard J. Evans (Cambridge), Jürgen W. Falter (Mainz), Harvey J. Graff (Columbus, OH), Arthur E. Imhof (Berlin), Konrad H. Jarausch (Chapel Hill, NC), Eric A. Johnson (Mt. Pleasant, MI), Hartmut Kaelble (Berlin), Hans Mathias Kepplinger (Mainz), Jürgen Kocka (Ber- lin), John Komlos (Munich), Jean-Paul Lehners (Luxembourg), Jan Oldervoll (Bergen), Eva Österberg (Lund), Janice Reiff (Los Angeles), Ernesto A. Ruiz (Florianopolis), Martin Sabrow (Potsdam), Rick Trainor (Glasgow), Louise Tilly (New York), Jürgen Wilke (Mainz)

Special Editor

»Cliometrics«: Claude Diebolt (Strasbourg) CONTENTS

Special Issue: Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st Century

Introduction Cornel Zwierlein & Beatrice de Graaf 7 Security and Conspiracy in Modern History.

I. General and Interdisciplinary Approaches, Early Modern Foundations Beatrice de Graaf & Cornel Zwierlein 46 Historicizing Security – Entering the Conspiracy Dispositive.

Cornel Zwierlein 65 Security Politics and Conspiracy Theories in the Emerging European State System (15th/16th c.).

Karl Härter 96 Security and Cross-Border Political Crime: The Formation of Transnational Security Regimes in 18th and 19th Century Europe.

Geoffrey Cubitt 107 Conspiracism, Secrecy and Security in Restoration France: Denouncing the Jesuit Menace.

John T. Hamilton 129 Conspiracy, Security, and Human Care in Donnersmarck’s Leben der Anderen.

II. Case Studies Late 19th to 21st Century Beatrice de Graaf 142 The Black International Conspiracy as Security Dispositive in the Netherlands, 1880-1900.

Constant Willem Hijzen 166 The Perpetual Adversary. How Dutch Security Services Perceived Communism (1918-1989).

Ondrej Ditrych 200 ‘International Terrorism’ as Conspiracy: Debating Terrorism in the League of Nations.

Susanne Keesman 211 The Communist Menace in Finsterwolde: Conspiring against Local Authorities? A Case Study on the Dutch Battle against Communism, 1945-1951.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 3

Tobias Hof 232 The Moro Affair – Left-Wing Terrorism and Conspiracy in Italy in the Late 1970s.

Jelle van Buuren 257 Holland’s Own Kennedy Affair. Conspiracy Theories on the Murder of Pim Fortuyn.

Liesbeth van der Heide 286 Cherry-Picked Intelligence. The Weapons of Mass Destruction Dispositive as a Legitimation for National Security in the Post 9/11 Age.

Mixed Issue: Articles

Tobias A. Jopp 311 On the Historical Roots of the Modern Welfare State: The Knappschaft Statistics of 1861 to 1920 as a Source for Quantitative Historical Social Research.

Kitae Sohn 339 The Living Arrangements of U.S. Teachers, 1860-1910.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 4

Historical Social Research Historische Sozialforschung

Special Issue

Cornel Zwierlein & Beatrice de Graaf (Eds.) Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st Century

No. 143 HSR Vol. 38 (2013) 1

Security and Conspiracy in Modern History

∗ Cornel Zwierlein & Beatrice de Graaf

Abstract: »Sicherheit und Verschwörung in der Neuzeit«. Security History is a new field in historical research. Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theories have attracted since some years great attention, both in historical and in social research. A thorough study of those both opposed and mirroring key phenomena and concepts does not exist. This contribution tries to outline a sketch of the development of their interwoven history, how (imagined) conspiracies challenged new means of security production and vice versa. The main assumption is that a) a translocal public sphere, b) concepts, practices and means of institutionalized security production, and c) developed narratives that contain conspiracy theories only emerge together from the Renaissance onwards. Only if there is a public sphere in which conspiracy theories can circulate anonymously they become themselves an element of historical agency. Security as a leading principle of politics emerges only with the development of the state. The contribution outlines the steps of change from confessional age to Enlightenment, to the Revolutionary age and to Modernity, identifying mainly two important systematic changings which affect the security/conspiracy combination (Emer- gence of observability alongside the politics/religion and Ancien Ré- gime/Bourgeois Society distinctions). It finally asks if there is currently happening a third epochal shift of comparable importance. Keywords: security, security history, conspiracy, conspiracy theory, communication history, information public sphere, Antichrist, confessional age, Renais- sance, Enlightenment, revolution, Modernity, late Modernity, theory of epochs.

1. Introduction

Conspiracy theories circulating widely beyond local face-to-face communities, concerning unclear, hidden but powerful threats to the security of the state, its citizens or a community are a modern phenomenon in Europe. It is modern because the constellation combining a) a translocal public sphere, b) concepts, practices and means of institutionalized security production, and c) developed

∗ Note on this text: Main draft by Cornel Zwierlein, important additions and suggestions by Beatrice de Graaf, mainly in Sections 2.4, 3.1, 3.2. Cornel Zwierlein, Fakultät für Geschichtswissenschaften, Historisches Institut, Ruhr- Universität Bochum, Universitätsstr. 150, 44801 Bochum, Germany; [email protected]. Beatrice de Graaf, Centre for Terrorism and Counterterrorism, Leiden University, P.O. Box 13228/2501 EE The Hague, Netherlands; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 7-45 Ň© GESIS narratives that contain conspiracy theories only emerges together from the Renaissance onwards. Ancient times perhaps knew of such circulating texts, but what has been transmitted to us are only public orations denouncing conspiracies and historical writings that describe conspiracies and rumors about them circulating in society. This HSR Special Issue starts with that statement about a historical specificity of the combined phenomena of conspiracy and security and thus it embeds them in a wider context of a renewed Security History. Being sensitive to the constructive and conditioning power of language, semantics and narration in a narrower sense, and communication and media support in a broader, it is also the conviction of the editors – shared in nearly all of the contributions – that the history of security and conspiracy can best be understood by carefully looking from a triangular perspective: Means of security production, state institutions, and certainly the public where both security discourses and conspiracy narratives circulate, obey the historical conditions of communication devices. There is, to our knowledge, no attempt hitherto in historical and social research to bind together the opponents of security and conspiracy in this way, attempting to give an outline of their development in modern history. Security History is experiencing its take off these days. Regarding the field of internal security and policing, the 19th century already saw the rise and consolidation of an academic and professional discipline – but there was never a ‘security history’ linked to it. On an international plane, security studies only emerged in the 1940s, when Political Sciences and International Relations were developed as a distinct field of research and education in the U.S. Since then, security studies are an inter-disciplinary field of expertise for military strategy, politics, foreign affairs and coordination of military and non-military tools of defense that has been established as a subdiscipline of academic International Relations (Wæver 2010; Zwierlein 2012; De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013). As that field is strongly connected to politics itself, this development clearly has its roots in the changing perceptions of the field of security politics: international and domestic aspects of security became entangled through the coining of the term “social security” during the Roosevelt administration. This marked not only a shift in notions but also in content. In the post World War II period, a series of new notions of national and international security followed one another (“national security” itself, “extended security”, “common security”, “global security”, “cooperative security” and “comprehensive security”, cf. Zwierlein and Graf 2010). From the 1970s onwards, sociology and philosophy both developed branches of “security sociology” (Kaufmann 1973). But in historical sciences, no corresponding field existed; only very recently can we recognize a claim for establishing such a field in historical research. Conspiracies and conspiracy theories are not generally, or at least not commonly, directly opposite terms to “security” like for example “threat” or “risk”. But they are one possible threat in a given community or institutional frame-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 8 work: No conspiracy or conspiracy theory is imaginable as a threat to an individual without such a framework. The lone individual who is planning the murder of another mere individual is, literally not con-spiring against him because the term necessitates something like the activation of an environment (at least two against one). In history and theory, we mostly speak of a conspiracy only with respect to the consensual action of a larger group within a given commonwealth against a public person or institution; even more, conspiracy theories mostly refer to such more complex constellations. So, already by that choice of the two opponents, the focus and the questions of this issue are narrowed down thematically, and as will be argued later, also epochally. While the first contribution by Beatrice de Graaf (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013) will outline the approach in this HSR Special Issue from the methodological point of view of Foucauldian dispositive theory and in dialogue with political science, the contribution by Cornel Zwierlein on the Renaissance history of security and conspiracy (Zwierlein 2013) contains in the first part a general discussion of the existing definitions of “conspiracy/conspiracy theory” in historical research, and it develops the thesis of the Renaissance as starting point for the above-mentioned combination. The task here is to prepare that methodological and historical introduction by a short sketch of the major developments of the opposition of “security and conspiracy” in modern history (Section 2) followed by an overview of historical research on the topic (or rather both topics) in a longue durée sense, also trying to explain why there are some important gaps (Section 3), before only very briefly summarizing the consecution and connection of the contributions in this special issue (Section 4).

2. Security and Conspiracy: Elements of Historical Development

If both topics alone – security and conspiracy – are relatively new issues in historical research, this is even more true for their combination and confrontation. That leads quickly to the problem that one cannot rely on an already existing master narrative of their correlated development through history, not even if we restrict ourselves to European history.

2.1 Greek and Roman Dispositions and the Renaissance as Starting Point Before concentrating on the transition to modern history, let us first have a look at ancient history because, for both notions and concepts, “securitas” and “conspiracy”, the Renaissance was able to revive ancient Greek and Roman notions, perceptions, and forms of communication and practices. The same does not apply to the institutional realities behind the notions, but nevertheless it is

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 9 important not to neglect the ancient roots, so as not to construct the novelty and specificity of the modern configuration in a misleading way. Roisman (2006) shows how the problem of conspiracies was a daily topic of political rhetoric: “epibouleuein”, “symprattein”, “symparaskeuazein” are synonyms which may be translated as conspiratorial activity, stressing either the cognitive element of joint planning or the practical element of joint preparation and action. If the comedians, foremost Aristophanes, already showed how conspiratorial arguments were usual in daily oral culture in Athens, the theme becomes salient in the orations of Lysias, Demosthenes, Aeschines with some reflections in Thu- cydides, mostly for the period around 400 B.C., both for “internal” and “external” affairs: During the state of war between Athens and Sparta in 415, 411 and 404, the threat of an internal Athenian conspiracy of oligarchs against the freedom of the city was openly discussed many times. Past historians have often discussed whether those charges of conspiracy were true or not; for Roisman as well as for us in this context, it is more important that the issue of conspiracy itself was a daily topic. Members of the political elite accused each other of conspiring against the republic and its government for idealistic as well as for strategic purposes (to prove themselves good servants of the state); the speeches of the orators are full of these narratives. Of similar interest are the (presumed) conspiracies relating to the opposition between Athenian democracy and an outside tyrant: the accusation was always that there were agents within their own state collaborating with an external power, thus threatening the Athe- nian constitution (e.g. Aeschines as the city’s envoy to the Macedonian king Philip in 346 B.C. conspiring against his own polis). We find here explicitly the formula that Outside are the plotters; inside, the collaborators [exothen hoi epibouleuontes, endothen hoi symprattontes]. It is the plotters who give and the collaborators who take or rescue those who have taken (Demosthenes 19.297-9, transl. and cit. after Roisman 2006, 118). But in the Greek sources, the threat of this conspiracy and plotting-together (“epibouleuein”, “symprattein” and derivatives) is normally directed against “the polis”, “freedom”, the commonwealth or constitution – not against some equivalent to “security”. What would become the Latin “se-curus” was in its Greek original (ataraxía, eumeleia, euthymia etc.) related to either Epicurean or Stoic philosophy and ethics, and as such apparently restricted to the realm of individual or interpersonal action. Even where the sources (such as a speech by Antiphon) relate to “conspiring” (epibouleuein) against the life of an individual, it seems to have been unusual to name an abstract “sphere” of security en- veloping the person as being violated or threatened by conspiratorial actions and plans; more directly, the texts formulate a threat against the body and person itself without a medium element. The Greek tradition of anti-tyrannical conspiracy rhetoric was first re-activated during the Florentine Renaissance (Latin translation by Leonardo Bruni), but it was only received more widely at

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 10 the end of the 16th century and probably played no great role during the formative moment of the Early Modern conspiracy pattern, which was fed rather by a hybrid of the medieval and ancient Roman coniuratio semantics. But the case of Thomas Wilson’s English translation of Demosthenes in 1570, very well studied by Blanshard and Sowerby (2005), is very telling, as it shows how the Athenian anti-tyrannical rhetoric against Philip of Macedonia could be blended with the English Protestant anti-tyrannical rhetoric against Philip II of Spain and the fear of a general anti-Protestant European conspiracy in the 1560s: so the Greek tradition enters exactly when the fully developed confessional conspiracy theory pattern has emerged (on which see Zwierlein 2013).1 In the case of Rome, some conspiracies even have a mythical status. Pagán 2004 is one of the later works on conspiracy in ancient Rome, concentrating exactly on the issue of how (betrayed and successful) conspiracies were narrated by the ancient historians (Sallust, Livy, Tacitus, Appian...), and less on how conspiracy was an issue of common discourse; so no analysis of Ciceronian rhetoric that would be the exact parallel to Roisman’s analysis of Athenian political rhetoric; nevertheless the reflections on the construction of conspiracy narratives are useful. The Catilinarian conspiracy as well as the conspiracy that prepared the murder of Caesar belonged to the European memorial heritage of all times, it is not our aim to enumerate here all the receptions and rewritings of those arch-conspiracies in the Middle Ages, Early Modern and Modern Times. But it is important to note that the common notion used to denote it in Latin was “coniuratio”, not “conspiratio”. “Conspiratio” has, with Cicero for example, mostly a positive sense of “consensus” and “spiritual concord”; only rarely does it occur in its negative political sense in Cicero’s letters, in Tacitus, Sue- tonius. The medieval manuscripts and early modern editions of Sallust are normally inscribed like C. Crispi Sallustii de coniuratione Catilinae (...), which was the common medieval term and which still served Angelo Poliziano for his famous description of the Renaissance Pazzi conspiracy against Lorenzo de’ Medici (Pactianae coniurationis commentarium, 1478). Cicero also used “coniuratio” as the key term in the Catilinarian orations (cf. only I Catilin. par. 1). German translations of Sallust used for “coniuratio” terms like “Bund- schuch/Rottung oder Empörung wider eyn Obergkeyt” (Sallust, transl. Schrayer 1534), which was exactly the terminology used in 1525 by the princes

1 It should be noted that the first complete edition with Latin translation (by Hieronymus Wolf) of Demosthenes’ orations was only published in 1572, and the first Greek edition in 1504 in Venice (Aldus Manutius). This Latin translation quite seldom used the translations “coniuratio/conspiratio” for the terms that Roisman (2006) identified in his analysis as markers of conspiracy thinking. The crucial passage cited above (“exothen...”), for example, is translated by Wolf as “Foris sunt qui insidientur, intus qui iuuent insidiatores.” (Demosthe- nes 1572, 240a). But we do indeed find “per conspirationem [...] facta” as a translation for “syntaxámenoi” (ibid., 465). Nevertheless: the late translation happened just at the moment when we identify the take-off of full-scale confessional conspiracy theories.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 11 and magistrates to denounce the Peasants’ Revolt. The term “conspiracy/conspiratio” itself and its derivatives became of common usage seemingly only in the political language of the Western Wars of Religion from the 1560s onwards, with some early uses during the German Protestant princes’ struggle and the war against the Turks (1530s, 1540s). There is, for example, no Euro- pean 15th-century Incunabulum bearing a title (colophon) with that term. If pamphlets and other printed work then denounce, in the second half of the 16th century, a “Papal, Turk or Antichrist conspiracy”, it seems obvious that the important step that had to be taken for the entry into modern history of conspiracies and conspiracy theory was the development of something which we might call – using a certainly anachronistic systematic term – a political theology during the age of confessional schism: con-spiratio, now in a negative connotation, seems to have expressed better the metaphysical (divine or Anti- christ) element of these presumed collaborations of men and supernatural powers. The development of “security” as a leading term of modern history and politics does not follow that scheme (having no necessary link to spiritual powers), but goes chronologically in parallel with it. The main steps are as follows: “securitas” as a notion of Roman imperial politics since the 1st century A.D.; loss of importance of “securitas” through the Middle Ages; recovering of “securitas” as a guiding principle of politics with the rise of the Italian territorial state and the early interterritorial state system since the 15th century; then the spread of it following the configuration of the state/state system and its related political language throughout Europe. “Securitas” in the meaning of care-free (and also care-less) is a term restricted to the realm of individual ethics, like “apatheia” and “asphaleia” in Greek philosophy. It is present as such in Cicero (De officiis): “Whereas with Cicero the notion of securitas tends to adhere to the private realm, with the collapse of the Roman Republic the term begins to be employed in a decidedly public fashion” (Hamilton 2013, 62). Velleius Paterculus uses it to denote the achievements of the emperors in removing the threats of civil war. Under Nero, the goddess “securitas” received her own altar in the forum and from that time on figured on coins and in texts such as Macrobius as a virtue of the emperors together with Concordia, Libertas, Salus, Pax, Fides Exercituum, Victoria (Haase 1981, 903-4; Instinsky 1952). So, as a political agenda, it is an imperial term, not a republican one: it is linked to the general peace guaranteed by the emperors within the empire and is, as such, specifically a post-civil war term. One may introduce, then, as a guiding argument for the distinction between the Middle Ages and modern times, the idea that during the Middle Ages, it was inter-personality that counted; as such the prevailing notion is pax, mostly traced back to pactum, a relationship between two persons, not a status in a (spatial) sphere. Indeed, “securitas” as a term occurred in the Middle Ages normally either in semantic relationship with such interpersonal relationships

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 12 or it was related already to “space”: security in a city with city walls (Schuster 2006), “securities” as the name for escorts or safeguard letters for voyages. But all in all it was a rather rare notion, completely overshadowed by “peace” and all its derivatives. As we have said, this changed with the emergence of the state as a transpersonal, more and more spatially conceived entity that necessi- tated the development of a differentiation of the concept along “internal” and “external” lines during the Renaissance in Italy. Only later it was to be found elsewhere in Europe – wherever the constellation of statehood, state communication, interterritorial state relationships through steady diplomacy, and dispatch communication spread. Until now, conceptual history has linked this constellation of security and the state system (since Conze 1984) to Hobbes and has temporarily located it within the 17th century. But the identification of that moment is derived too much from intellectual history and does not enquire into the conditioning structures behind the developments in political language (and afterwards in systematic treatises by great philosophers).

2.2 Public Sphere Plus Antichrist: The Confessional Age We have to add a third element to our observations on the mirroring notions of security and conspiracy, that was put at the very beginning of this introduction as the first point: it is the “public”, but rather a public of information communication and not the emerging public sphere and public opinion with its critical function to criticize and correct government or princes as we know it especially from Jürgen Habermas. Conspiracy theories in a modern-era sense are only imaginable under the conditions of the existence of the “public” as a separate communication area with its own rules, particularly with the possibility of very frequent anonymous production and reception of news, texts, propaganda material etc. The earlier public theory and public history, as inspired by the Ameri- can “public opinion” school and then especially by Habermas (repeatedly), with a striking new boom after 1989 when Strukturwandel der Öffentlichkeit was translated into English (Habermas 1989; Calhoun 1992), was chiefly concerned with the emergence of a critical “counter-power” in the sense of a pre- history of democratic societies or, one might say, a democratic semi-institution, the “fourth power”. Early reception in particular, also in the field of history, was concerned with this (ruler-) critical function of the “public” – for example in the discussion about the reformatory public (the state of research is largely unchanged since the summary by Talkenberger in 1994), in the discussion about the urban public and its critical function (Würgeler 1995; 2009), or the enquiry into the function of criticism of the absolutist government model in various forums and forms in the 18th century (Gestrich 1994). International research, particularly after 1989, took up this thread and inquired into the critical function of the public in the course of the French Revolution, hereby extending the perspective to certain groups which had been neglected in the orig-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 13 inal conception of the model (Calhoun 1992; 2010). Theoretical criticism of the model itself was expressed variously: for example, criticism of the space metaphor in the “public” model (Mah 2000). However, it was overlooked for a long time that the presupposition for public criticism, i.e. an information public sphere, was positioned chronologically earlier and should perhaps be viewed as more fundamental in its effects, even if those effects were not particularly visible (Dooley 1999; 2010; Woolf 2001; Zwierlein 2006, 208-72, 557-610; De Vivo 2007, 57ff.; Landi 2006). The communication of criticism – from cautious clerical or courtly correctiones principis right through to revolutionary pamphlets –, in the context of a public which aims to restrain or even topple a changing regime, is only possible on the basis of constantly circulating observational information about the current state of the observed (and then perhaps criticized) system (Luhmann 1992). In our context, this becomes a significant argument in several ways: firstly with regard to the media form in which public information creates the present: conspiracy theories require a particular form of present-perception to “train” a form of present-analysis and future planning which is then used parasitically by conspiracy theories, both in its narrative and in its conceptual form. This has to exist in order for a division to exist into the areas of the empirically possible, the metaphysically possible and the various forms of “fictionality”, i.e. the prerequisites for various forms of conspiracy narratives (Zwierlein 2013). Secondly, and more generally, the information public sphere creates a perception of a) the continually changing positions on the “chessboard of Europe” (or to use the metaphor of the times: on the the- atrum Europae), with their own internal logic; and b) the structure of the perception that all political and reportable actors (including kings) also experience themselves as observers observed by the anonymous, independently communicating realm of information public sphere, generates – consciously or uncon- sciously – an impression among the observers which one might initially call a system-inclusion and at the same time a system-instability experience and which can be described by certain characteristics: a) consciousness of the integration of the actors into a larger conglomerate, characterized by dynastic- political, confessional, or economic logics of connection and division; b) plannability, and at the same time limitation of this plannability by system contingencies in this field; c) consciousness of connections and (causal, conditional) interdependencies over large areas. It is not necessary here to presuppose any logical-rational calculation, or to use the word system/sistema etc. for a state, economic, confessional or political system or for a general European system, even if we can note the use of this body of words for various areas at various times in the early modern era. The important point is that the information public sphere enables a quiet consciousness to emerge that there are superordinate factors and interdependencies, which may be difficult to trace, understand or predict, but to which all actors, even the most powerful rulers of the time, are subject; that clearly none of the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 14 visible actors has complete control of the system any more, neither the Pope nor the Emperor. This initially opens up a new emotional space to be filled with fear and worry about the security and stability of the whole and its parts, to which the binomial of “security” and “conspiracy” can attach itself: it is only in this space that modern conspiracy theories can then introduce “super-causal instances”. The fear of a lack of real controllability of the system generates fearful images of a secret power which in fact controls everything. The possibility of such super-causal instances as an inversion of the lack of complete control of the “system which is bigger than the sum of its parts”, as perceived daily in the information public sphere, is thus also surely the actual differentiation criterion when asking which security/conspiracy constellation is only imaginable since the modern era. The threat to the security of an entire system, not just to a single actor or to a form of state, seems to be new. This therefore very significant information public sphere also emerged in the Renaissance at the same time as, and as a side-effect of, state and interstate communication, i.e. also at the same time as the increase in significance of security and conspiracy. It was fully developed relatively early on, chiefly based on professionalized hand-written paper and post communication. Through these channels, texts and mass pamphlets could repeatedly circulate which strengthened the critical function of the public, even in the early modern era (in the Reformation, the Wars of Religion, the Civil Wars, the Fronde, etc); and conspiracy theories, too, could by their appellative tendency transport criticism of rulers. However, there was a tendency from the 15th to the 18th century for the descriptive and observational function of public information to have quantitative and effective priority over the (always indicated) potential for public criticism within the same framework. Although the Renaissance was therefore the incubation period for the modern-era security/conspiracy relationship as we understand it, the first full – in the sense of previously developed – version, and therefore also the matrix or paradigm, of the modern-era conspiracy theory is the confessional- transnational form which became prominent from the 1560s with the Western European Wars of Religion and which, in various forms, described a central confessional conspiracy instance controlling the whole of European politics and which could then be theologically identified with the Antichrist. Crouzet (1990), Kaufmann (2003), Leppin (1999) and others have reconstructed the general apocalyptic consciousness during the confessional age. It is important to precise and narrow down that question to apocalypticism as interpretative framework within the European State System and within a transnational public sphere. Confessional-political actors and actions were indentified causally with the intentional plans of the Antichrist super-instance, whether they were the Pope or the amorphous mass of the Protestant network with their central plan- ners in Wittenberg or Geneva. They ultimately threatened the security of the entire “system”, not only of one state, one king or one confession. In this mix-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 15 ture of spiritual-theological elements and European state system-specific elements was exactly that surplus which reacted to the new system-inclusion and system-instability consciousness described above. This macrostructure could then be transformed into the microstructure of each respective social field of conflict or local milieu which has been studied by Crouzet (1990) in detail or by Roberts (2004). At this point, instead of giving a sequence of examples, we refer to Pohlig (2002), Lake (2004, with further literature p. 109, Note 5 on Elizabethan anti-Popery), Clifton (1973), Pillorget (1988), Coster (1999), Wood (1982), Onnekink (2007) for England in the 17th and 18th century, and Zwierlein (2013).

2.3 From the 18th Century to the Late 19th Century Continuing our rough sketch of the development of “security and conspiracy” (and the third hidden engine, the media environment), we must find a place for the Enlightenment and the French Revolution, because research on conspiracy thinking and conspiracy theories concentrated early on that period. Hofstadter coined the influential thesis of the “paranoid style” of politics, beginning exactly with the American Revolution and Independence Wars of the 1770s. Later, historians like François Furet and Lynn Hunt continued to concentrate on that period, identifying conspiratorial discourses as a specificity of the Revolution period (Furet 1981; Hunt 1984); this research has continued until now (Tackett 2000; Campbell, Kaiser and Linton 2007). During the Enlightenment and the French Revolution – at least to the extent that research has highlighted until now – the element of political theology lost (much of) its salience. At first glance this is not surprising, but let us exemplify it with some observations about the notorious Histoire des conjurations, conspirations et révolutions célebres, tant anciennes que modernes by François Joachim Duport Dutertre and Desormeaux (10 vols., 1754-1760). Dutertre (1715-1759), classified as one of France’s 18th-century journalists (Dictionnaire des journalistes, 1600-1789: a correspondant of Malesherbes), presents this work as a sober historical narrative for which he did not undertake a huge amount of his own research of sources: “only the form [e.g. the interpretative framework] is mine” (Dutertre 1754, I, vi). The short general remarks on the topic of his 10-volume enterprise reveal that for Dutertre, a conjuration is always a complot of some men against the present government of a republic or a monarchy. He does not mention special transnational elements of such a plot. The fact that – after a first chronological attempt – he decided from the second volume onwards to gather all the conjurations of one nation into one volume shows that he always has the ideal-type of coup d’état against the legitimate government in mind, close and often identical to a revolt, led by a conspiracy peer group, mostly headed by an “anti-hero” chief which he judges as evil. He starts with some classical “conjurations” of ancient history, notably the Catili-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 16 narian one, and then lists for the Holy Roman Empire, for example, the Huss- ites of Bohemia against Emperor Wenceslaus, “the Anabaptists”, and Wallen- stein against Emperor Ferdinand II. Under “Anabaptistes”, Dutertre gives a strange combination of the Peasants’ war of 1525, the revolt of the Nobles of 1522 and the Anabaptist kingdom of Münster of 1534/35. For Italy he has, among others, accounts of the attempt by Cola di Rienzi to create a new republic of Rome, the conjuration of the Pazzi, famous since the above-mentioned treatise of Poliziano, the conjuration of Fiesco against the Doria in Genova, and the Sicilian Vespers; in other volumes, instead of adding single conjurations as separate chapters, he simply presents the accumulated stories of “all” conjurations in France, Spain, Naples, England, Japan, Portugal, Turkey etc. For France, the Huguenot uprising is a whole story of conjuration, after that the assassination attempts of Jean Chastel and Ravaillac against Henri IV, and he ends with some plots from the reign of Louis XIII, perhaps prudently not touching on topics like the Fronde, still too “hot” to be touched. What we have here, in the middle of the 18th century, is already something like a canonical collection of classical archetypes of conjurations and conspiracies. But it is obvious that from this (rather mediocre) 18th-century perspective on conjurations, nearly every critical opposition, revolt, critical group and action directed against the given order was treated under that name. The religious motivational factors for the 16th/17th-century events are regularly revealed as “fanaticism”, which means that the 18th-century author excludes by definition transcendental powers as causal actors – in contrast to the former Antichrist conspiracy theories from the confessional age. Durtertre’s work is a compilatory expansion of the classical conjuration history genre since Sallust rather than a history of conspiracy theories. So, it just gives an account of historical conjuration events which may have been accompanied by a conspiratorial discourse – he is not very interested in its circulation, in the power of those texts and concepts themselves. But the underlying general approach shows that not only within the elite of sharp-tongued rationalist Enlightenment, but also on the level of obedient pro-monarchical journalistic ‘enlighten-tainment’ (if we may use that neologism to characterize that level of discourse), the range of probability of conspiracy theories to be formulated, to circulate and to be successful was perhaps widened with respect to the spatial range of interdependency of political actions, but strongly reduced with respect to the transcendental agency factors mentioned (cf. Campbell 2004, 200). The one security that is threatened by those conjurations here was the security of the state, maybe the nation state in its early modern form as the “patrie” of the king’s or the republic’s people, but not yet the revolutionary nation tout court (cf. Schmidt 2007). Certainly, one would quickly find the use of “conjuration/conspiration” and “sécurité” at that time applied to every imaginable smaller community and situation, but it is nevertheless telling that if an author writes a general history of conjurations and conspiracies, he automatically thinks only on that level of

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 17 state security.2 Tackett 2000 also remembered that only very seldom did philosophers like Voltaire or Montesquieu or even practitioners of politics refer to conspiracies. So, at first glance, the 18th century seems to be a return to pre- confessional times with respect to security/conspiracy – with the exception of the proto-nation as the threatened realm of security. If we emphasized above the development of a system-consciousness in the framework of, and by means of, Europe-wide political public information about political, confessional, economic and other interdependencies as being specific to the modern era, this seems not to have changed. Indeed, summarizing the assessments of Bercé and Campbell (cf. n. 2) to the effect that the 18th century saw a decrease in the occurrence of larger state complots and a shift towards intrigue and cabal, it initially seems that a part of this consciousness was lost, or lost significance: in relation to the European state system itself, a certain stabilization had taken place, such that the conglomerate now seemed to the scholars of the 18th century to be a real, orderly system (Muhlack 2006; Kluet- ing 1986; Schilling 1994; Schroeder 1994; Duchhardt 1997; Thompson 2011), in which the dynastic-political power relationships were so clear, and moreover the large states and rulers were so undisputedly the only decisive actors that there was now hardly any perception of contingency which might lead to an impulse of fear.3 A “super-causal instance” beyond the interests of princes and rulers thus seemed no longer plausible, so that conspiracy theories with this exaggerated element no longer appeared. The system-inclusion consciousness, at least at the highest level, was now no longer accompanied by a system- instability consciousness. Also connected with this are the changes on the security side of the security/conspiracy binomial: Karl Härter has pointed out in several contributions that for the German-speaking world, the governing objective of “security” becomes completely dominant in the cameralist theory and practice of the policey-type administration and that, precisely towards the end of the 18th century, it increasingly replaces, supplements or is combined with the older eudemonistic state objective of happiness (Härter 2003; 2010). In the early

2 In this, Durtertre is implicitly supporting the point made by Bercé (1996, 1-5): The latter stated that during the 18th century, conspiratorial action against the state declined; however, Campbell (2004, 202) argued that this was true only for the highest level of coup d’état actions, while on the level of courtier rivalry, competition between branches of noble families etc. the amount of conjuration/conspiracy/cabal was still high during the 18th century. But Durtertre identified with an – already very large – notion of conjuration/conspiracy: only those against the legitimate government of a state, while many examples by Campbell fade smoothly into the smaller scale of cabal and intrigue. 3 The political sciences reconstruct the transfer of the state-system way of thinking from Italy to Europe and on to the wider world as the expansion of a system and the incorporation of ever more sovereign states (e.g. Armitage 2007, Reus-Smit 2011, 209-12). The process is surely more complex. An appropriate model should, conversely, also formulate the expulsion of potential candidates at the end of aristocratic society.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 18 Enlightenment, Leibniz in 1670 makes a central conceptual distinction between internal and external security, which then becomes a standing notion. The political economies of Europe – the French physiocracy and économie politique in a similar way to the German and Italian cameralism – now increasingly conceive the (albeit ideal) normal condition of their societies and states to be that of complete security. Apart from external security from war and subjuga- tion, administrations tended to establish state institutions against insecurity based on crime, malnutrition, disease, and also natural disasters. If we take the example of state-biased insurances as an indicator of the development of security production devices, the notion of civil society based on the social contract enters the scene here: society is seen as an accumulation of individuals obligated to one another to (anonymous) solidarity in insurance institutions and thereby in “risk societies” in their proper and literal sense. Society as a whole was to disconnect itself from natural afflictions of all kinds from its environment, at least on the level of values (Zwierlein 2011; cf. Kaufmann 2012). As a minor German administrative philosopher formulated in the 1780s, it was only nowadays, in enlightened times, that one does not aspire [sc. to stabilize] the inner security [of a state] by the external security but vice versa, the external by the inner, because it has been realized that those states where the best possible police institutions were to be found usually also had the most potential instruments to procure security from external threats and to guarantee its duration (Pfeiffer 1780, 5). The literature on all these topics is immense, but only in a few, mostly more recent contributions, is direct attention given to the state objective of security.4 In all this, however, “conspiracies” hardly ever appear as a threat to these areas of inner security. Certain robber bands might be described as “conspiracies” in the micro-arena, but harvest devastations, fires or storms are not described as conspiracies against internal state security, either by God or by nature, in cameralist literature. It can be said, therefore, that the 18th century was a low point for our heuristic pairing of security/conspiracy: it was a time in which the – albeit still unfin- ished according to Jellinek’s classical definition, or even non-existent according to Osiander’s (2009) somewhat extreme argumentation – princely state was at least able to dominate perception to the extent that transcendental threat elements faded from the above-mentioned system-consciousness. Insecurity in the European state system and, from the perspective of the individual state, external and internal security themselves, seemed relatively plannable, in spite of all the imponderables.

4 For an overview of the transition from happiness to security in Enlightenment state objective theory, with many references to literature which are not included here cf. Zwierlein (2011b).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 19 The 18th century as the century of Enlightenment, however, also prepares the next step, which leads to a new boom and configuration of security/conspiracy during the French Revolution. To characterize this briefly: The revolutionary conspiracy thinking had a dialectic form which was something like the inverse effect of a Rousseauian social contract thinking: since the revolution imagined the new society to be formed as the metaphysical amalgama- tion of men transformed into the state of civilization and all acting as imple- menters of the single, indivisible “general will”, they necessarily imagined every real or supposed action against that general will to be a similar “single, indivisible, pervasive enemy and imagined a death struggle with this opposite, whose supposed power and coherence vastly exaggerated the tangible evidence.”5 We could say, in a rather Schmittian way, that the dichotomy of struggle between the True Church and the Antichrist as mastermind operator during the confessional age was replaced by the secularized dichotomy of revolutionary civil society on the one hand and the counter-revolutionary conspiracies of traditionalism and despotism on the other. Conspirators are “une faction d’ennemis de la liberté”.6 We read in hundreds of texts at that time of “conspirations” that are made by “an Austrian Committee”, by “une secte de con- spirateurs”, by “philanthropists”, by “50,000 brigands”, by the “Jacobins”, by Louis XVI and his followers, and later also by Robespierre himself who was said to have made himself king. The revealing actor also changes with the passing of time: it is the “Tribunal révolutionnaire”, some representatives in the Assemblée nationale or the “Comité de sûreté générale”, the committee of general security: there we have our opposition of security and conspiracy. In 1792 the “conspirations” of the “prétendu comité autrichien” “se trament contre la sûreté générale, dont votre comité de surveillance est expressément chargé de recueillir les traces”.7 Here we have the direct opposition of conspiracy and the security of the nation or even of civilized mankind. Conspiracies are made against the progress of civilization itself. At this point it seems useful to generalize this new constellation of security and conspiracy, which we called above en passant “Schmittian”. Perhaps even more helpful (but still Schmittian) is to come back to Koselleck’s Kritik und Krise (1959). Koselleck wrote this early work under the clear influence of Carl Schmitt’s Leviathan (1938), but he understood his work in particular to be a sort of historical explanation of the present-day Cold War, a fact which is often

5 This is the ingenious summary of Furet’s position by Lucas (1996, 769) (without citing him), who himself insists that if this is a correct description of the “Jacobin mind-set” and of the Terror, one should not take the Jacobins to be “the only – or the only true – revolutionaries”. 6 Archives parlementaires 1792, XLIV, 38. – Kaunitz, who with his renversement des alliances is judged to have undergone his “noviciat en machiavélisme” there (cf. for Kaunitz: Schilling 1994, for the topic of Machiavellism: Zwierlein 2010b with many further references). 7 Archives parlementaires 1792, XLIV, 33.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 20 forgotten in its reception (cf. Scheurmann 2002, Missfelder 2006; for Schmitt’s circle in post-war Germany cf. Van Laak 2002, for Koselleck cf. Daniel 2006, Olson 2012). Seen from a liberal-conservative perspective, the book was related in spirit to Jacob Talmon’s (Talmon 1952; 1957) or even Hofstadter’s historicizing diagnostics of the times. The basic structure of the essay, which ultimately condenses almost 400 years of European history, is that of a double large epochal shift which, for the first step, broadly followed Schmitt’s logic of neutralizations (Schmitt 1932; Ottmann 2003; Zwierlein 2011c): the (Hobbesi- an, so to speak) state, as a neutral ruling power, supersedes the confessional parties of war. The state had, with its bourgeois functional elite (mainly lawyers) created a successful counter-power against the – in some cases confes- sionally divided – estates and nobles. With this bourgeois functional elite, however, the state at the same time created its own eventual destroyer, in a second dialectical process: the citizens founded a morality which was separate from politics, a society which was separate from the state and apparently initially neutral, and, above all, created the bourgeois utopia of human development which ultimately leads to the dissolution of the state. Since then, at the latest since the French Enlightenment, various rival bourgeois utopias compet- ed with each other, always with a teleological historical-political backbone, whether this was a liberalist conception of economic progress or a variant of communist utopias. In this way, for him, the macro-conditions of the 1780s and of the 1950s were directly connected. One may criticize some of Koselleck’s approaches and interpretations, including his concept of state, but his reference to a distancing between state and society in the perception of the actors and the significance of temporalized secular teleological models of history and the future are surely important. It should also be mentioned that both Koselleck and Hofstadter single out the Illuminati as a prime example: For Hofstadter, the fear of the Illuminati – the dissolution of whom, by the Duke of Bavaria, was described in an emotional pamphlet in 1797 in English with the title Conspiracy Against All the Reli- gions and Governments of Europe [...] – created the typical structure of Ameri- can “paranoid style of politics”. For Koselleck, Adam Weishaupt’s Illuminati were the best example of a pre-revolutionary bourgeois illusion, which was formed within the utopia of an already-present, natural and legitimate historical process of stages, from the natural state via the current absolutist state to a stateless society, and which was characterized by the absence of active revolutionary plans, instead beginning a kind of self-fulfilling prophecy solely in the organization and peaceful, secret propagation of the order of Illuminati. The French Revolution was thus interpreted not as a civil war but as a “fulfillment of moral postulates” (Koselleck 1959, 156), as a process which necessarily obeyed the laws of history – and similarly, in Koselleck’s present day, the fundamental principle was the global conflict between the USA and the USSR

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 21 as state/imperial emanations of two respectively opposing ideological progress- related philosophies of history. Important for our purposes – without, as already mentioned, embarking on a detailed criticism of a text whose concepts are now more than 60 years old – is this reference to the separation of (bourgeois) society and (monarchical/estate- based) state and the autonomization of society as a subject of history, at the same time replacing the older cyclical models of historical structure with progressive sequences of steps. The result is namely that a system-instability consciousness seems to rejoin again the system-inclusion consciousness – particularly strongly, it seems, in the later Enlightenment and in the Revolution. Perhaps a more precise formulation would be as follows: The first system- inclusion consciousness, which was related primarily to the political world of states and the state system, with its (to a limited extent) pluriform actors, and which began in the Renaissance, was equipped by the emerging information public sphere with an observational instance which enabled the perception of interdependencies, but also of contingencies and instabilities. Now, with the Enlightenment, a next advance of the public sphere seemed to consist of an autonomization of the bourgeois sphere itself – still not necessarily interpreted as a criticism of the existing ruling system.8 The information public sphere now included art, science, crafts, economy, technology – everything that bourgeois Enlightenment communication knew. The initial effect, on the abstract level, was that bourgeois society experienced itself as a self-sufficient actor; princes might be significant for this communication as patrons, dedicatees or employers of the authors, but only fractionally as the object. Only by that, “society”, “civilization” or “humankind”, as the Scottish Enlightenment calls it, is emerging: as a macro-actor for whom the philosophies of history of Smith, Ferguson, Hume, Herder and the Illuminati are written. And now, in the politicization of the revolutions and of their preludes and aftermaths, the disconcerted old state could discover in the Illuminati conspirers in the sense of the old “plots”; above all, however, the new bourgeois society could in turn interpret the whole old state system as a conspiracy against it, as was exemplified in the few citations given above. And thirdly, various groups, parties, fellowships, bourgeois con- fessions etc. could perceive each other as a whole, or individual actors and agents among them, as (bourgeois) conspirers and conspiracies against each other. With each of these new, and now fully modern, conspiracy theories, it is important to ask precisely what security is threatened here. It is often firstly the security of the nation, but sometimes also the security of cosmopolitan society, insofar as this could be imagined at this time. From the conservative side, how-

8 The literature is immense. We would just point to Gestrich (1994), Melton (2001) and for a useful overview of the distinct media of the 18th century cf. Fischer, Haefs and Mix (1999).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 22 ever, it can also be still the security of the perceived union between state and dynasty in a longer-standing tradition. One might initially assume that the rest of the 19th century does not completely fit into a linear course of history, but rather that the French Revolution phase was an exception with regard to this very specific opening up of a security/conspiracy constellation. After all, the great prominence of anti-Jesuit conspiracy theories in the 19th century (Cubbitt 1993; 2013) would seem to argue for a kind of neo-confessional return of the constellation of the confessional age – just as the 19th century is often spoken of in general as a neo- confessional era (Blaschke 2000). Mostly, however, it can be observed that anti-Jesuit conspiracy theories were launched by one of the bourgeois or post- bourgeois progressive groups and that they identified the Jesuits as agents of the old system. They were regarded as enemies of the state and of society; concern was raised about the establishment of a state within the state, about the false indoctrination of youth, and the Jesuits’ alleged spy network; in the narratives, however, they were no longer agents of the older super-causal instance of the Antichrist of the 16th/17th century. The worldview was no longer theological-apocalyptical. As such, the appearances of anti-Jesuitism in both epochs are only at first glance isomorphic, but not homologous. The 19th century was also characterized by a pluralization of structurally similar conspiracy threats. As well as the forms of anti-Jesuitism, anti- Semitism, and anti-anarchism, individual groupings, parties or groups were repeatedly identified as conspiracies by various sides, which reflects the new circumstance that the – ultimately bourgeois, although the aims were sometimes anti-bourgeois – system of associations, clubs and parties was constantly producing, in a completely new form, new actors who became the object of public attention. The confessional era knew nothing comparable to this – except, at most, the particularly striking pluralization into sects and religious groupings in England in the 17th century. The security which was threatened was now adapted to the framework of nation states; initially, therefore, the fear applied to coups or threats to the nation state and to national society. Wherever threats to values (civilization, humankind) were expressed, or wherever the old state itself was denounced as a threat, transnational groups defending the security of something which was not yet institutionally tangible – for example, a communist society – were heard, admittedly usually vaguely. The transnational dimension of conspiracy and security seems to have gained significance particularly from the 1870s/1880s on.

2.4 No Speculation About the Future How, finally, should we characterize the latest developments in the relationship between security and conspiracy? Do we have a basically structurally un-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 23 changed continuation of the development since the threshold era of the Sat- telzeit (1770 to 1830) described above, or is there a third, large threshold era – in general, and in particular for our constellation of security and conspiracy? Koselleck (1959) assumed the largely unbroken continuation of the new opposition of bourgeois progress utopias which began in 1770-1789, but his perception also reflected the spirit of the existing Cold War. There are a lot of reasons for situating a new epochal break either in 1945 or in 1990. This is evident at the level of the transformation of security conceptions and practices; the communication-historical perspective would also argue in favor of this. Concerning ‘security’, a major shift occurred around 1945 with the emergence of ‘national and social security’ in the form that was coined during the Roosevelt era in the US. That politics, at a first look, did strengthen the classical form of the internal/external security division by empowering the welfare state and the means of military defense. But other elements, like the global scope of the intelligence services, pointed already to a hybridization of that internal/external division. Since then, in the field of International Relations, a wealth of interconnected new principles such as extended, comprehensive or human security came up, all aiming at the replacement of the classical state security. Those new security regimes resulted in a corresponding duty of the UN or other ad hoc state communities to provide humanitarian intervention (as the responsibility to protect). Within domestic politics, the extension of the functions of “police” and a blurring and mixing of the functions of police and army can be ascertained. After 9/11, the functions of ‘national security’ were re-enforced, but at the same time, the transnational scale of those ‘national security’ agendas became visible in new types of war. The ‘good’ counterpart of that transnationalized national security was the concept of “human security” that the UN Human Development Report described as “safety from the constant threats of hunger, disease, crime and repression. It also means protection from sudden and hurtful disruptions in the pattern of our daily lives – whether in our homes, in our jobs, in our communities or in our environments”. As subgroups of “human security”, it listed a number of “securities” such as “job security, income security, health security, environmental security, security from crime”, which were the “emerging concerns of human security all over the world” (Human Development Report 1994, 3). In 2003, the UN Commission on Human Security announced: The international community urgently needs a new paradigm of security. Why? Because the security debate has changed dramatically since the inception of state security advocated in the 17th century. According to that traditional idea, the state would monopolize the rights and means to protect its citizens. State power and state security would be established and expanded to sustain order and peace. But in the 21st century, both the challenges to security and its protectors have become more complex. The state remains the fundamental purveyor of security. Yet it often fails to fulfil its security obliga-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 24 tions – and at times has even become a source of threat to its own people. That is why attention must now shift from the security of the state to the security of the people – to human security (UN Commission on Human Security 2003, 2). According to this commission, the so-called “Westphalian System” was over, and the community of states was increasingly obligated not only to guarantee security between sovereign nation states as the only actors and addressees of international security politics, but also to address the individual security needs of the people, particularly in cases where dictatorships or “failing states” threatened or could no longer guarantee their security in all dimensions of life. At least three levels of thought about security are linked here: (1) the emphasis on the individual, (2) the inclusion and recognition of the needs of previously marginalized groups, (3) the extension of what are considered possible threats to security. Human security is mostly defined here in the abbreviated formula as freedom from fear and freedom from want and thus encompasses two dimensions: the dimension of protection (military if necessary) and the dimension of development policy. UN peacekeeping missions should become a stronger and more frequent instrument. The propagation and increasing acceptance of a new institution and legitimizing factor in international law, the responsibility to protect (rtp), was the next step: in 2001 the Canadian government proposed the appointment of the International Commission on Interven- tion and State Sovereignty by the UN, which then drafted a corresponding report. The idea behind rtp is to reverse the current procedure of legitimization of humanitarian interventions: the question of humanitarian intervention should no longer be central only from the perspective of the community of states looking down “from above” on events in member states; rather, the first level should involve the responsibility of the home country to protect the population “from below”, vis-à-vis both its own population and the community of states. On the next level, if the home state infringes this obligation, the community of states itself has a responsibility to protect the population against the existing threats, and in case of doubt also against the illegal actions of the government of the home state itself (Paris 2001; Hampson and Penny 2007; Verlage 2009). The second dimension of the extended security concept (freedom from want) was articulated in particular in the above-cited expert report “Human Security Now” by the UN Commission on Human Security 2003. Its basic idea is that human security also means that each individual has a right to particular mini- mal provisions with regard to food, energy, education, everyday security (e.g. from crime and even from unreasonably dangerous traffic) (UN Habitat Report 2007). The catalysts for the freedom from fear dimension were the genocide in Rwanda in 1994 and the Kosovo conflict in 1999. The catalyst for the freedom from want dimension was the Asian financial crisis of 1997 (Hampson et al. 2001; Ulbert and Werthes 200;, Fröhlich and Lemanski 2011). After 9/11, it was not with recurrence to ‘human security’ that the US led to ‘war against terrorism’ but rather with respect to a widened concept of ‘nation-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 25 al security’. Nevertheless, also in that case, the transnational elements became extremely strong; the so-called Westphalian system (cf. for a concise concept history of that notion Schmidt 2011) was challenged hardly by this enlarged classical security concept just as by avantgarde ideas like ‘human security’. Both developments seem to dissolve the division of internal and external security which grew from the late Middle Ages and increasingly from the 17th century: to the erosion of the classical principle of sovereignty. It seems as if they implicitly carry in themselves the target horizon of a quasi-world government by the community of states, in which everything is “internal security”. All those processes of extension of the concept of inter- and transnational security regimes were severely criticized and discussed which is not our topic here (cf. only MacArthur 2008; Krause 2005). It is enough to state here that there exists a bundle of overwhelming indices for a constant and massive drift of change which seem to have the dimension of opening really a new epoch of globalization. At the same time, we live in an era characterized by a boom and dense proliferation of conspiracy theories: 9/11 symbolically marks the opposition of both anti-Islamic and anti-American conspiracy theories, which have also been manifested in real actions, not dissimilarly to the opposition between anti-state anarchic conspiracy theories and anti-anarchic conspiracy theories in the 1880s/1890s. However, given the complexity of the globalized present era, this is only one of several threat scenarios invoked by the security/conspiracy opposition. Anti-Western or anti-capitalist conspiracy theories by opponents of globalization or ultra-ecology groupings can be seen. All these combinations of security and conspiracy can be described in themselves at a loose crossover point between contemporary history and political science’s analysis of the present. According to the epoch-formation model that we have followed so far, however, the question is whether a truly new form of security/conspiracy is implied here or whether it is merely a case of variations on the older, fully modern form. According to the logic applied so far, we would have to be able to describe a development in communication history which, in a similarly fundamental way to a) the emergence of a transnational political information public sphere between the Renaissance and the 1560s and b) the emergence of bourgeois internal communication in the 18th century, generates a new form of perception of the world, which in turn produces a system-instability consciousness: in the first case this led to the observability of politics by religion and vice versa, i.e. of the political state system from outside, for example by confessionalized religious actors who, in a conspiracy theory, were able to reveal political actors as agents of the “real” apocalyptic enemy. In the second case, it led to the observability of the (absolutist) state by (bourgeois) society. It was possible to “reveal” all the agents of the Ancien Régime as conspirers against civilization’s progress. Although there is no doubt that in the last few decades, a new and

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 26 decisive communication revolution has been in progress with electronic media, in particular those that allow direct bi-directionality, especially the internet and its derivatives, we have to ask in the logic of this argument which new observer-actor is “created” by this communication revolution, and how this observer then observes the previous old system and possibly reveals it as a conspiracy. What, then, takes the place of bourgeois society? There seems to us to be no generally accepted interpretation of this yet, and certainly none that would be broadly internalized by the actors themselves. Castells (1999) coined the term of network society, referring to the new form of de-collectivized, highly individualized workers and the replacement of industrial capital by cultural capital; his three-volume work, however, ends rather vaguely: among others, ecology is identified as really new avant-garde movement. Hardt and Negri (2000) can perhaps be viewed as authors of a newly developed form of neo-Marxist conspiracy theory: against a global, abstract- mythical empire they posit as new actors the “multitude” who must demand political world citizenship – but is that a really new perspective? A third similar vision is expressed by Rosanvallon (2008; 2011) according to whom in recent years new forms of negative, deliberative and reflexive forms of popular control have arisen that both underscore and support a new form of critical civil society (based a.o. on the rise of social media), but on the other hand run the risk of destroying this civil society in a bundle of individualized, populist and consumerist virtual entities. In this new age of virtual particularity, not the state, the political parties or ideological bodies, nor even the ‘citizen’ in its classical definition, are the new actors in the conspiracy or security oppositions. Rather, social media trends, disseminated in real time, are constantly and reflectively rehearsing and playing out a number of parallel universums at the same time. A threat can manifest itself in a virtual sphere, by means of imagination, without becoming ‘real’ in any physical sense at all, but this virtual threat still dictates political and public behaviour. Those are more or less convincing descriptions about what is happening in a ‘risk society in the new media age’, but they do not indicate a clear new perspective with new contents. With respect to our argument developed above the question still remains, if there is really emerging a third level of observing perspective on the same scale as in the former steps of unfolding observabilities and conflict frontiers alongside the politics/religion and Ancien Régime/Bourgeois society division. Some ‘new phenomena’ seem to be interpretable along rather old schemes of observability and conflict patterns.9 Others do not seem to have (yet) the necessary

9 The fact that the Islamic world can observe the West and has been able for some time now to perpetrate terrorist attacks on it seems structurally only to be a repeat of the “observability” of politics by religion on a global level.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 27 dominance.10 Many of the analyses brought forward currently come from specific political “corners”; we can only take them to be an indication of the idea that a similarly decisive social transformation is suspected to be emerging from the information technological transformations. All this lies in the future, and it is not appropriate for the historian to speculate about it; on the other hand, every historical investigation, model and thesis formation grows implicitly or explicitly out of the horizon of these uncertainly- gauged current problems. So, it would be intellectually unfair not to mention them, as they are certainly, in a certain manner, incentives for the enterprise of this special issue and for the overall current interest of historical and social research in those issues. So, we have decided to include also analyses which are located at a fluid crossover point between contemporary history and political science. However, for the latest phase, the outlined framework of historical development cannot yet be completed in a satisfying way.

2.5 Security and Conspiracy, Real and Imagined Brief attention must also be given to a problem which concerns all the epochs dealt with: in the following, and also above in the construction of an epoch- sequence model, are we dealing only with security discourses or also security practices? Are we talking about real conspiracies or only about fictitious conspiracies and conspiracy theories? The approach taken here is that these questions are misleading and are the wrong ones to ask. Feelings of security or insecurity, riotous gangs, “secret” meetings of several against many or against one ruler have always been in existence everywhere since there have been hominids. Such units only have a historical dimension if they are observed in the framework of general, larger developments in society, as carried out above. For the historian, an epoch’s descriptions of itself as interpreted through sources on the topic of “security and conspiracy” should have a certain indica- tive function, which is why in this introduction, emphasis has always been placed on the etymological and conceptual history – even if it is clear that the lack of use of the word “securitas” as a descriptive term in a given epoch does not necessarily mean that it is not possible to write security history for that epoch. In the case of conspiracies, the fully formulated conspiracy narratives and conspiracy theories which circulated as autonomous texts (or in other media) in the respectively available public sphere should be better indicators to

10 Ecological politics, with their implicit leading division and conflict frontier ‘ecological equilibrium vs. human progress’, do possess perhaps such a new vision and have also an image of history and future which is at least partly no longer progressive. However, the hesi- tant beginnings of such thinking and of the party formations since the 1980s together with the current pragmatic implementations of various parties within the classical political systems do not yet allow us to discern the nature of a general “great transformation” which would be structurally comparable in size to that of the third estate in bourgeois society.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 28 trace the limits and possibilities of an epoch than the reconstruction and analysis of a rebellion or plot itself, since acts of violence and group formations alone are often difficult to locate semantically: is it a case of an old aristocratic grouping, a modern-era secret society or a party formation? In transition phases, this is difficult to decide. In the farthest-reaching conspiracy theories of a given time, on the other hand, one can see which “super-causal instances” are used as ordering systems, and which interpretations and counter-narratives are specifically intended to make people understand events in a different way: a dynastic marriage and a political union, for example, as pieces of the mosaic of what is actually a Papist/Antichrist plan; a meeting in an aristocratic salon as preparation for a monarchical anti-revolutionary conspiracy. In this respect, the methodological openness to the discourse-analytical dispositive approach and also the attention given to the linguistic-narrative side of conspiracy theories in this HSR Special Issue is justified by the topic: there seems to be a clear point of entry for a historical dimension here. Our (admittedly not quantifiable) assessment is that eras with a high circulation frequency of conspiracy theories are clearly often also eras of high frequency of actual assassination attempts, complots, and conspiratorial network formations – although it remains a difficult task to discern between origin and consequence. Precisely for the question of how security, security planning, security institutions and precautions of a given society react to “conspiracy”, it is important not to place the real-or-not- real question at the point of departure (or even at all), since the reaction to conspiracies in terms of social security production takes place long before and long after the real manifestation of acts of violence.

2.6 Summary We will summarize this sketch of the indicated development of security and conspiracy, their relationship to each other and their conditioning by the media system for Modern History in Table 1.

3. Brief Remarks about the State of Research

To our knowledge there exists no monographic or collective attempt to thema- tize the relationship between security and conspiracy, with equal attention given to each, over several epochs. This makes it necessary for us to give some consideration consecutively to the state of research of security history and the state of research of conspiracy (theory) history, even if, in the case of security history, this has been attempted recently by some contributions (see below).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 29 Tab. 1: Development of Security and Conspiracy in History Epoch Security Conspiracy Media System Renaissance securitas becomes relevant again as a Conspiracies as conjurationes are still The new paper and post relais communi- concept within the state and in the state perceived as locally limited or as collabo- cation (courier system) of diplomatic system. rations, e.g. of a hostile prince with a communications “trains” transpersonal faction within a città. and transterritorial thinking in terms of No free circulation of fully developed interdependencies. conspiracy theories. Confessional era The reception of the Renaissance concept Fully developed conspiracy theories now Emergence of a first self-reproducing of state (and interstate) security in circulate which, where religion observes public information, which enables the Europe follows the spread of the state politics, usually have at the vanishing mutual observability of politics and system. point a transcendental “super-causal religion; conspiratio now becomes more instance” (apocalyptic motifs): political important alongside coniuratio as a ac-tors are revealed to be agents of an linguistic concept; at the same time, actually quite different, Biblical plot. there is a perception of system instability. 18th century Great upsurge of “security” as a declared Period of decline of conspiracies and also Emergence of the bourgeois public (new state objective of all cameralist, physio- of the circulation of conspiracy theories sub-media, recipients and above all cratic, and also liberal concepts and in a political sense. The evidence of thematic areas of continuous and current administrative practices since the mid- apocalyptic motifs giving form to con- communication). 17th century. “Secure normal society” as a spiracy theories declines. yardstick. Sattelzeit/revolutionary Security of the nation, security of civili- a) Conspiracies by revolutionaries against The bourgeois public creates the “middle era zation, security of humankind join securi- state and monarchy class”, and makes the Ancien Régime ty of the princely states or merge with it. b) Conspiracies by agents of the Ancien (state, estate-based society) observable

Régime against the progress of bourgeois by society; at the same time (or because society of this), there is a perception of system c) Conspiracies by various bourgeois instability. groups and their concepts of progress against each other are now imaginable. 19th/early 20th century Firstly a restriction of the social horizon Basically continuing as in the Sattelzeit. Basically continuing as in the Sattelzeit. back to the nation state as framework, Pluralization and proliferation of produ- and correspondingly also its security. cers and of demonized groups of actors. Particular increasing institutionalization, The international threat element in bureaucratization and ‘administratiza- conspiracy theories increases. tion‘ of security in a managerial sense. From the 1880s, increasingly international cross-movements, which change national/international security concepts and practices. Since 1945/1990 Emergence of ‘national security’ (national The new upsurge of conspira- Technical-electronic media revolution: security bureaucracies, international cies/conspiracy theories mostly reproduc- globalization and individualization of security organizations). Simultaneously es, on a more global level, patterns that perception, leading to a convergence of extension of the security concept, human are structurally already familiar. official, commercial and informal com- security extended, global security, disso- munication; virtual particularism. lution of the classical division between Unclear: which abstract new forms of internal and external security. observability does this generate? Human- ity as destroyer of itself?

3.1 Security History With the usual sense of important issues and the universalist approach of the Annales school, Lucien Febvre claimed as early as 1955 the necessity of a history of the “sentiment de securité” encompassing religious, economic, political and social aspects of security production (Febvre 1955). Mainly he insisted on the religious history of security in faith and on the history of insurances, the latter issue having been raised by Jean Halpérin four years before. Jean De- lumeau then partly replied to that demand by writing histories of one possible opposite to the feeling of security: fear (Delumeau, 1978; 1983; 1989). But these works concentrated on the impact that the Reformation and the confessional schism in Europe had on the inner feelings of men, and how instruments like the Catholic confession and Protestant church discipline formed Early Modern characters. Their main impulse and inquiry adhered to a framework of questions raised since the 1960s by Foucault with his “surveiller et punir”, by Elias with his civilization process or by Oestreich with his concept of Sozi- aldisziplinierung (Oestreich 1968; Schulze 1988): very different approaches, but in their main interest in discipline, the impact of force on human feeling and also fear, they belong to an intellectual heritage of a generation of men born in the 1920s – too young to have been involved in the very first ranks of decision-making or military forces during the Second World War, but old enough to have experienced personally that society of militarization, oppres- sion and fear – from very different perspectives (cf. Miller 2002). It seems that this heritage as well as the intellectual impact of the Cold War situation, where the structure of International Relations was minimized to variations of always the same bipolar form, led to a strong concentration on internal affairs in the political and social sciences and in the humanities. With the exception of Oes- treich, none of those (somewhat but not completely arbitrarily chosen) three works looked at inter-state war or religious fundamentalism. Where Oestreich treated war and even confessional war, he concentrated once again on military discipline and on neo-Stoic elements of transconfessional arguments; something as irrational as conspiracy theories was not his subject. And Foucault concentrated on the irrationality of rational state machines but likewise not on conspiracy theories. Not only was the focus of these theoretical agenda-setters on the internal relationship between man and powers like the state or other machines of discipline; but also, for example, the agenda in the avant-garde field of the 1960s/70s in historical studies, social history, was always explicitly the priority of internal over foreign affairs. So, if “security” was a topic to be touched upon, it was neither in the sense of a general new field to be opened, nor was it integrating foreign and internal affairs of states, commonwealths or groups and their history. Probably, neither Delumeau nor any other author working in that field would have understood his work as belonging primarily to a “security history”. At the end of his life Foucault did address, in his lectures

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 32 on governmentality, the topic of “Sécurité, territoire, population”; but only some of these lectures (mainly the important 4th one) were known to a wider public before 2004. And again, the focus was on internal security production. So, from the methodological inspirations of cultural and social sciences in general and of historical research in particular in the 1970s/80s, no direct path led to anything like a general security history. There was, surely, a field of historical research that was of quite central interest in those years and that would have to be addressed as belonging to such a field: the history of social security or of social insurances, mainly since the late 19th century. As the Bismarck system was historically the earliest, or at least played a leading role in international comparison, research was strong here, focusing mainly on the development of its central institutional framework and also laying the path for research on related institutions like e.g. social insurances for mining workers (cf. Tennstedt 2009; Hennock 2003; Gräser 2009; Beck- er 2010; Hockerts 2011 for current historical overviews and states of research). For U.S. history, similar important topics in research had been the 1935 Social Security Act, Roosevelt’s politics of the New Deal, the Philadelphia conference in 1944 of the International Labour Organization and the inclusion of “social security” as a universal human right into the UN Universal Declaration on Human Rights of 1948 (Art. 22). For example, for the American New Deal politics of the 1930s/40s, which prepared the Social Security Act of 1935, it was emphasized that “Job security, life-cycle security, financial security, market security – however it might be defined, achieving security was the leitmotif of virtually everything the New Deal attempted“ (Kennedy 1999, 365). The thesis was put forward that the same policy, under the influence of war, then prepared the harder line of the National Security State with the Act of the same name and with its bodies, the National Security Council and the CIA in 1947 (Hogan 1998). In this field in general, biographical, event-historical and institution-historical approaches always dominate (e.g. Daalder and Destler 2009; May and Zelikow 2009; Monje 2008), while more exact investigations e.g. of the governing objectives and concepts of the policy are lacking. Stuart (2008) recently pointed out that after the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the National Secu- rity Act of 1947 should be judged as probably the most important law in Amer- ican post-war history, but that in comparison with the former, there was much less research on this law. Miller (2008), under the impression of the latest developments after 9/11, presented a historical investigation of the Church Com- mission, which inspected the working methods of the Intelligence Services in 1975. As well as this area of the history of social security systems, there are some research publications on the area of external security policy (Militärgeschicht- liches Forschungsamt 1982-1997). In the area of the recently – since the end of the Cold War and the opening of relevant archives – booming history of state secret and security services, on the other hand, it is conspicuous that in many

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 33 monographs and collections, a reflection on the name-giving concept of “security” in these institutions is lacking (cf. for the East German Staatssicherheit e.g. Gieseke 2007; Leide 2005; Mampel 1996; Herbstritt and Müller-Enbergs 2003; Suckut 2009). If in contemporary history of the social security systems, “security” was literally an object of research, for other topics and for earlier periods in general the issue of “security” was touched upon much more rarely. Huge historical projects of editing sources of foreign politics, like the editions of the Richelieu papers or of the Peace of Westphalia (Richelieu 1982-2003, Acta Pacis West- phalicae), concentrated on other terms. Concerning the conceptual history of security, Werner Conze’s contribution of 1984 must still be noted as a departure point in that field, while there were not many follow-up studies, and this article was restricted to German political language only (Conze 1984; Istinsky 1952). Daase (2012) urged the adoption of the method of conceptual and political language history into the political sciences, but it is only recently that this call has been followed up by case studies (e.g. security culture/guilt culture). As has now been frequently mentioned, the state of research on security history is poor. The crucial question is where and how to start a new general security history. In contemporary history, the epoch for which some research does already exist, the necessity of a new beginning has been stressed but with different approaches: Conze (2005) argues for a prudent use and historicization of the terms of political sciences as heuristic devices, while Rödder (2007) argues against it, supporting traditional hermeneutic approaches. Our own attempts in this field have opted for the first solution in trying to historicize to this date some selected notions like human security (Zwierlein et al. 2010; Zwierlein and Graf 2010; Patzold 2012), insurability (Zwierlein 2012), energy security (Graf 2010), food security (Collet 2010), securitization (Conze 2012). For a new history of security, it should be helpful not only to historicize individual approaches, concepts or terms of security, but also in most cases to investigate specific fields of opposites and oppositions to “security”: in this way, the otherwise rather amorphous concept is immediately more strongly defined. This does not have to be meant in the sense that, following Koselleck, one would have to choose only classical “asymmetrical antinomies” (such as Greek/Barbarian, civilized/barbaric) necessarily on one and the same taxonom- ic level. Thus, the opposition between “security and conspiracy” has been chosen here, in which the second concept is clearly far more specific and particular than the first. This means, however, that the binomial fulfils all the more clearly a heuristic limiting and specifying function. As demonstrated above, with appropriate definition, it leads to a concentration on either the ancient, the late medieval or in particular the modern era.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 34 3.2 Conspiracy History While the question of why security history does not have its own domain in historical studies is fitting, since the corresponding thematics are given in other disciplines and since they are of great general relevance, a comparable argument for a history of conspiracies and conspiracy theories can of course not be made on this general level. They provide, rather, a particular topic and a specific focus, since they are of course opposed to “security” (as a threat), but they present only one of many imaginable opposition elements. The increased presence of the topic “conspiracy/conspiracy theory” in history and the social sciences did not begin with the explosion of literature in the aftermath of 9/11 mania, which is documented by a wealth of volumes (e.g. Knight 2002, Melley 2000, Barkun 2003); social scientific and historical research had already given attention to this topic in the Cold War phase, spurred on by an essay which appeared approximately at the same time as the above- mentioned epoch-forming study, Koselleck’s Kritik und Krise: Hofstadter’s Paranoid Style in American Politics of 1963/4. It was a fulminant essay which made a distinction historically between American anti-Catholic 19th-century conspiracy theories and American anti-Communist ones of the Cold War era, but which did not present a developed concept of how conspiracy theories had developed in the longue durée. He methodologically transferred the clinical psychological term of paranoia onto a style of politics, and at the end of the essay he even indicated that he believed this to be actually a supra-historical category, applicable to all eras (Hofstadter 1964, 38-9). Nonetheless, he had made the topic prominent, and he also already made a brief mention of the significance of media conditions (ibid., 24). A number of political and social science publications were prompted by this. Recently attention in social sciences has turned to both the existence of ‘real existing conspiracies’ as to the social functions and discursive and constructive dimensions of conspiracy thinking (Kirby 1997; Miller 2002 and Basham 2001, Van Buuren and De Graaf 2013). However, these social scientists tend to forget that the social function of conspiracies is not tied to the 21st century, or to the rise of social media, but can be identified in earlier ages as well. In the field of history, as mentioned above (Section 2.2), it was predominantly historians of the French Revolution who made conspiracies the object of historical research; following them was e.g. Geoffrey Cubitt for the Restoration (Cubitt 1993). In the 1990s some contributions and conferences were dedicated to this topic (Briggs 1990; Bercé and Guarini 1996; Monier 1998), and more recently there appeared Coward and Swann (2004), Campbell, Kaiser and Linton (2007), Horn and Rainbach (2008). The older historical research on anarchism and terrorism on the 19th century did not place conspiracy theories so much in the foreground.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 35 The definition of conspiracy theory which is usually discussed in recent literature is that of the philosopher Keeley (1999), as follows: A conspiracy theory is a proposed explanation of some historical event (or events) in terms of the significant causal agency of a relatively small group of persons – the conspirators – acting in secret. [...] It proffers an explanation of the event in question. It proposes reasons why the event occurred. This definition has since been criticized on several sides (cf. Clarke 2002); nonetheless, it figures as one of the first more general attempts at definition. The problem with the definitions currently discussed is that they are presented mostly from the philosophical or sociological point of view, and thus typically tend to have little reflection on a historical dimension of the emergence, development of and changes to conspiracy theories – in Clarke (2002, 147), there is a consideration of “evolutionary biological dispositions” of conspiracy theories in humans; for Hofstadter 1964, the basic idea was a kind of supra-historical, cyclically appearing psycho-social form of political style. A truly historicizable definition of conspiracy theory has scarcely been attempted, cf. Zwierlein (2013) in this volume. In many of the older contributions but also some recent ones, there is not always a clear distinction between concepts – even between “conspiracy” and “conspiracy theory” – and the definition of the object often remains vague. Particularly if “conspiracies” are addressed for example for the rural population or for aristocratic society in the pre-modern era, automatically an often very vaguely differentiated connection is made between the object and medieval cooperative or noble conjurationes. In what way and to what extent this connection exists and such conjurationes are structural precursors or models for the conspiracy theories of the modern era, which include in recent and contemporary history in particular “terrorist” networks and conspiracy fictions or invented conspiracy theories such as the anti-Semitic hate propaganda writings of the “Elders of Zion”, is unclear so far. More decisive, however, is probably the step from such conspiracies and groupings in themselves as social-structural frameworks towards a specific rhetorical and also narrative form of conspiracy theories, which on various levels of secret, semi-public and public communication themselves become elements of historical agency. This often happens independently of well-known “authors” to whom the respective theory may be ascribed, since this communication form is usually characterized by anonymity, which in itself is a decisive element of the effect of the communication of such theories. Only once conspiracy theories have achieved such a degree of “independent existence” does the question of the relationship between “really existing” conspiracy groups and the “theories” and thus between “reality” and “fiction” become meaningful, a question which is repeatedly addressed in the relevant literature.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 36 4. This HSR Special Issue

This HSR Special Issue puts the accent on developments since the late 19th century; contributions have been collected in relatively close chronological order and thematic content, including contributions from young researchers who are investigating security/conspiracy constellations in the context of terrorism and assassination attempts (De Graaf 2013; Ditrych 2013; Hof 2013, Van Buuren 2013) or of the communism syndrome (Hijzen 2013; Keesman 2013), which already interested Hofstadter. Van der Heide (2013) ends the volume with an investigation into the conspiracy narrative which influenced U.S. policy in legitimizing the Iraq war. Many of these case studies deal with Dutch examples, since they come from the environment of the Center of Secu- rity and Terrorism Studies of the University of Leiden. For the approach taken by this issue, it is significant that the focus in each case is strongly on conspiracies and conspiracy narratives in opposition to security as an international yardstick and in international networks and relationships: an approach which is often lacking in the literature cited above. This section of case studies from the 1880s to 2001 is preceded by a section which presents a mixture of contributions using a particular methodology and/or reaching back to the Early Modern era. Cubitt (2013) resumes the object of his study of 1993, the Jesuit conspiracy theories of the French Restoration period, and reconsiders it with the aid of Buzan and Waever’s securitization theory. Härter (2013) looks primarily from the security side at the phenomenon that in the 19th century, at the same time as and counter to the ever stronger development of the nation-state, equal work was done on developing international means of guaranteeing security for the prosecution of criminals and alleged criminals: conspiracies and the circulation of “conspiracies” by anarchists and other groups functioned as legitimization for taking police pursuit to an international level. Hamilton (2013) uses a comparative-literary perspective to present his new approach in security studies of a “philology of care” by means of a close analysis of Donnersmarck’s film “The Lives of Others”: he demonstrates, in this prime example of a film operating with security services and conspiracy fear, the hidden presence of the old etymological root of securitas: care, care-free, care of others, care of the state. Thus the period briefly structured in this introduction through the development of the security/conspiracy relationship is covered by means of different examples. The contributions are the result of a conference in Den Haag, which was organized by the editors and was substantially financed by the Project ‘Histori- cizing Security. Enemies of the state, 1813 until present’ (Netherlands Organi-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 37 sation for Scientific Research, NWO).11 Thanks to Bochum assistants Svenja Römer and Max Ammareller for support in editing the contributions. English proof-reading by Angela Billington. Thanks also to the North Rhine- Westphalian Academy of Sciences, Humanities and the Arts in Düsseldorf (Junges Kolleg, Mercator Foundation) for financial support of the last- mentioned work.

Special References

Contributions within this HSR Special Issue 38.1: Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st century

Cubitt, Geoffrey. 2013. Conspiracism, Secrecy and Security in Restoration France: Denouncing the Jesuit Menace. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 107-28. De Graaf, Beatrice and Cornel Zwierlein. 2013. Historicizing Security – Entering the Conspiracy dispositive. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 46-64. De Graaf, Beatrice. 2013. The Black International Conspiracy as Security Disposi- tive in the Netherlands, 1880-1900. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 142-65. Ditrych, Ondrej. 2013. ‘International Terrorism’ as Conspiracy: Debating Terrorism in the League of Nations. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 200-10. Hamilton, John. 2013. Conspiracy, Security, and Human Care in Donnersmarck’s Leben der Anderen. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 129-41. Härter, Karl. 2013. Security and Cross-border Political Crime: The Formation of Transnational Security Regimes in 18th and 19th Century Europe. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 96-106. Hijzen, Constant Willem. 2013. The Perpetual Adversary. How Dutch Security Services Perceived Communism (1918-1989). In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 166-99. Hof, Tobias. 2013. The Moro Affair – Left-Wing Terrorism and Conspiracy in Italy in the Late 1970s. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 232-56. Keesman, Susanne. 2013. The Communist Menace in Finsterwolde: Conspiring Against Local Authorities? A Case Study on the Dutch Battle Against Com- munism, 1945-1951. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 211-31. Van Buuren, Jelle. 2013. Holland’s Own Kennedy Affair. Conspiracy Theories on the Murder of Pim Fortuyn. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 257-85. Van der Heide, Liesbeth. 2013. Cherry-Picked Intelligence. The Weapons of Mass Destruction Dispositive as a Legitimation for National Security in the Post 9/11 Age. In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 286-307. Zwierlein, Cornel. 2013. Security Politics and Conspiracy Theories in the Emerging European State System (15th/16th c.). In Historical Social Research 38 (1): 65- 95.

11 Cf. [accessed 30 December 2012].

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 45 Historicizing Security – Entering the Conspiracy Dispositive

∗ Beatrice de Graaf & Cornel Zwierlein

Abstract: »Die Historisierung von Sicherheit – Ein Versuch zur Einführung des Verschwörungsdispositivs«. This introduction offers a brief historiographic account on current histories of security. A case is made for historians to rely more on and profit from recent theories and concepts in political science, most notably the concepts invented by the Copenhagen School on securitization. Fur- thermore, an attempt is made to ‘historicize security’ and provide some new methodological perspectives, in particular the idea of connecting security to conspiracy as an operational dispositive for analyzing instances of security policy making. Keywords: securitization, security history, conspiracy, legitimacy.

1. Introduction

Security is not just the outcome of physical or political circumstances and incidents. People and organisations have to attribute meaning to those circumstances and incidents. They have to be incorporated into political, administrative and bureaucratic decision-making-processes and procedures. This may seem obvious. But the history of security is usually not described in these terms. Histories of conflict and security usually focus on the key moments of change in the development of security-policy; without taking into account how complex the development process actually was. Another question that is often sidestepped is the question if those new laws, measures and organisations could have taken a different shape.

∗ Note on this text: Text based on Call for paper for the conference worked out by Beatrice de Graaf and Cornel Zwierlein. Main draft of this final version by Beatrice de Graaf, additions and suggestions by Cornel Zwierlein. Text was discussed within the Research Network Secu- ritization . Beatrice de Graaf, Centre for Terrorism and Counterterrorism, Leiden University, P.O. Box 13228 / 2501 EE The Hague, Netherlands; [email protected]. Cornel Zwierlein, Fakultät für Geschichtswissenschaften, Historisches Institut, Ruhr- Universität Bochum, Universitätsstr. 150, 44801 Bochum, Germany; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 46-64 Ň© GESIS To clarify in what direction this Special Issue on security and conspiracy is geared, we will start with a brief historiographic account on current histories of security. Next, we will shortly touch upon how history can profit from recent theories and concepts in political science. In doing so, we will attempt to ‘historicize security’ and provide some new perspectives, in particular the idea of connecting security to conspiracy as an operational dispositive.

2. State of Art in the History of Security

Since the 19th century the political sciences and criminal sciences have defined their research field as the domain of securing the “public order” and protecting society against violence and criminality (Cohen 1985; Foucault 1991; Garland 2002; Härter 2010; Jaschke 1991; Lange 1999; Lange, Ohly and Reichertz 2009). Security is a concept long associated solely with notions of national security, but in recent decades, the concept has emerged in social science as a more general concept denoting, on the one hand, objective and subjective safety in a variety of contexts and on various levels. On the other hand, it has emerged as a concept of governing (cf. Neocleous 2008; Simon 2007). Partly in relation to the recent publication of Foucault’s work on “security” in its 19th century meaning (Foucault 2004), security has become a concept guiding work in sociology and, especially, criminology. As Zedner (2009) argues, security is now a key concept to understand contemporary forms of governing in relation to a wide variety of social issues of which crime is only one example. Some therefore speak of a “security society” or of a related “society of control” (Deleuze 1995) that involves “hyper-securitization” (Dean 2007). Such perspectives indicate the relevance of security in contemporary social life, but they have as yet done little to promote the systematic empirical study of the process of securitization. In the realm of International Relations (IR), Security Studies emerged as a social science discipline in the 1950s, focusing on protecting against external threats, border infringement, and military attacks (Frei 1977; Haftendorn 1983; Böckenförde and Gareis 2009; Haftendorn 1991; Buzan 1991; Walt 1991; Waever and Buzan 2007). Security and conflict have historically been key preoccupations of political science in general and its sub-discipline of international relations (IR) in particular. In this tradition, security threats are conceptualized as objective conditions of danger that require countering through rationally calculated state action. States are considered rational calculative actors facing an anarchic international system, where survival depends on conflict, bargaining, or cooperation (Morgenthau 1948; Waltz 1979). IR studies were embedded within the realist dictum and dogma of the “security paradox”: the dilemma coined by John Herz, according to which the one state’s striving for security inhibits the other’s, thereby inserting endemic chaos

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 47 and insecurity into the international system as a whole (Herz 1950). In this realist view on security politics, that prevails until today, security was often defined in an essentialist sense, as a natural, God-given order of things, of natural “statist” needs for autonomy and sovereignty, as mirroring national interests that could be computed by counting natural resources as compared to those of neighboring states (Krasner 1978; Smoke 1987). Since the 1970s, the concept of security was expanded with social, cultural, and economical notions, but it was still defined in a timeless, statist sense (Tuchman Mathews 1989; Mondale 1974; Myers 1989; Axworthy 1997). However, regarding contemporary security surprises, such as the fall of the Berlin Wall, the end of the Cold War, or the emergence of jihadist terrorism, (neo-)realist security scholars have been severely criticized for not having been able to predict these security failures (Gaddis 1992; Gaddis 1997; Lebow and Risse-Kappen 1995). Only after the constructivist turn took hold within the IR field and the discipline of Critical Security Studies emerged in the 1990s was the concept of “security” increasingly seen as the outcome of a process of historical contingency and social construction (Waever 1989; Daase 1993; Katzenstein 1996; Buzan, Waever and De Wilde 1998; Weldes et al. 1999). Even though the realist perspective was dominant within both political science and history, there have been critical researchers who viewed the concept of security from a non-static, non-realist/positivist perspective. One of the most prominent contributions to new ways of research in the field of security has been made by the German historian Werner Conze. In 1984, he published an important chapter on ‘Sicherheit’ in the influential handbook Geschichtliche Grundbegriffe. According to Conze, the concept of ‘securitas’ played only a minor role in daily life during the Middle Ages. At that time, ‘pax’ was the dominant concept, which referred to a status of spiritual order and peace and which was related to a geographically limited form of territorial peace or security. Only after the Wars of Religion in the seventeenth century, security became one of the main arguments for the new modern states to expand and legitimize their reign and authority. The object of security-policy shifted from regulating personal relations and security (think of escort letters that medieval travellers carried with them to guarantee their immunity and safety from other landlords) towards a more territorial and geographical sense of security. From the eighteenth century onwards, society at large increasingly became the object of security policy (Daase 2012). Besides Conze, the historicizing of security hardly developed in a theoretical sense. What did happen is that the concept of ‘risk’ took the center stage in the area of security-studies (Bernstein 1996). Nonetheless, the history of risk focused mainly on thinking about health and environmental risks and natural or technical disasters (Zwierlein 2011; Bennassar 1996; Favier 2002; Kempe and Rohr 2003).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 48 The history of security in the classic sense received a new boost after the (social) constructivists gained ground in the field of IR. With the constructivists came the theory of Critical Security Studies in the nineties. Within this area of research, security was no longer viewed as a static concept, but as the result of a process of historical contingencies and social construction. The critical turn in security studies from the mid-1990s onward substantially challenged the received notions of security within political science and opened up important new directions of research. The 1998 publication of Security: A New Framework of Analysis, by Barry Buzan, Ole Waever, and Jaap de Wide can be considered a watershed in this respect (Buzan and Hansen 2009, 212- 18). This analysis points out that “danger” is not an objectively existing condition, but that “danger” requires social processes of mediation before it can become a broad societal concern, and before it becomes politically actionable. The “Copenhagen School” postulates security as an intersubjective concept that is called into existence by “speech acts” of relevant actors, be they authorities, parties, ministers, or other important figures. A security problem is perceived as an event or situation deviating from the normal order of things. If enough critical mass is assumed, the problem is operationalized into a policy and an encompassing series of action steps. Here, security is reconceptualized as a “speech act,” the utterance of which is politically situated and the effects of which condition exceptional and sometimes post-democratic political responses. Through this process of securitization, the security problem is tackled or solved; institutions adapt to the new threat; or audiences just lose interest; or in the worst case scenario, the case is lost and a new reproductive structure emerges (Buzan, Waever and De Wilde 1998; Bonacker and Bernhardt 2006, 219-42). The interesting point for historians here is that security in this sense has undergone transformation; it has been turned from an absolutist entity or quality into a dynamic, communicational, and intersubjective process. Only when enough people agree on what constitutes a “security breach” does the process of securitization “work.” In this sense, the method leaves room for failing processes, processes of desecuritization, or even counter-securitization (Balzacq 2011; Conze 2012). The concept of “securitization” signifies these broad social and political processes that make danger knowable and actionable. Thus, the securitization literature reconceptualizes security from a rationally directed state response to an objectively existing danger, to a socially embedded and historically contingent process of meaning-making and political negotiation (Waever 1995; Wil- liams 1998; Buzan and Waever 2003; Buzan and Hansen 2009; Campbell 1992; Balzacq 2005; 2011). This work can be seen as part of a broader reorientation of the discipline of international relations toward the study of social processes that construct security threats and formulate state interests and agendas (Alker and Shapiro 1996; Weldes et al. 1999; Neumann 1999). These literatures have successfully stud-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 49 ied contemporary warfare as closely related to practices of “othering” (Camp- bell 1998; Hansen 2006). The domain of critical security studies has significantly expanded in recent years, with increasing attention for the intersection between security and risk in state practice and policy making (Aradau et al. 2008; Amoore and De Goede 2008a; De Goede 2004; Amoore 2004). These literatures have questioned the dividing line between security as a practice focused on potentially existing threats to the life of the nation, and risk as a mundane technology of governing. They have drawn attention to the increasingly important focus on risk in state security practice; for example, in the operation of modern border security; the protection of critical infrastructures; the politics of the war on terror; and global processes of financial (re)bordering (Amoore 2006; Aradau and Van Munster 2007; Salter 2008; Kessler and Werner 2008; Lobo-Guerrero 2011). Others, including Peter Burgess, have explored how threat and insecurity are related to society’s values, ethics and lifestyles (Burgess 2002; 2011). This line of research, which has received some criticism over the years, does offer some interesting links for historians, because the ‘Copenhagen School’ created a valuable set of tools to create a map of security as a dynamic, communicative and intersubjective process. Also, the theory (or the methodology of securitization) provides space for research into the questions of why the process of agenda-setting of security-issues works in some cases and does not work in others; and when can we speak of ‘counter-securitization’ or even ‘desecuritization’? When does security disappear from the agenda? Or how and why does security-policy create conflicting positions or even radicalisation of ‘securitized’ minorities?

3. Historicizing Security

For us historians, the value of both Conze’s and the Copenhagen School’s contributions lies in their call to view security-policy not as a ‘black box’, where only the outcomes are relevant, but to devote our attention to the underlying processes: the historical contingencies, the public administrative, the political and the personal choices that lead to different policies in different countries in different times – even when threats and incidents are similar. The downside of the ‘Copenhagen School’ perspective is that their research focuses mainly on the very recent present – and thereby it poses processes of securitization as something new and unique. Additionally, the theory of securitization runs the risk of becoming such a broad theoretical framework, that it is always applicable and thus rendered meaningless. Therefore, it is our task as historians, to take the ideas of the Danish and Dutch researchers, and use it not as a mandatory framework, but as a useful conceptual ‘tool kit’, in which all

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 50 the individual parts of the process of securitization offer valuable insights for a more systemic analysis over time. In this short introduction, we would like to offer two conceptual directions that can offer some valuable insights for the moderate constructivists among us and contribute to the historicizing security: the idea of the ‘security dispositive’ and the connection between this dispositive and the notion of political legitimacy. Historicizing security aims to place both the process and the outcomes of security policy in a historical context, and to deconstruct how these policies and ideas developed in debate, discourse and practice.

3.1 The Operationalization of Security Dispositives in History To ensure a better understanding of the development of security-policy over time, we need a consistent working definition of security which can be further operationalized – contrary to other definitions. Such a working definition, which in my opinion does justice to the complexity and dynamics of security, has been provided by the French philosopher Michel Foucault. In the seventies, Foucault introduced the concept ‘dispositif’, as a means to gain insight into the practices of power and knowledge in modern societies (Foucault 1977; 2007; also Aradau and Van Munster 2007; 2011). For Foucault, a dispositive is “a thoroughly heterogeneous ensemble consisting of discourses, institutions, architectural forms, regulatory decisions, laws, administrative measures, scientific statements, philosophical, moral and philanthropic propositions – in short, the said as much as the unsaid” (Foucault 1980, 194). For Foucault, the notion of the dispositive was a way to grasp and analyze the ensemble of power relations at distinct historical moments, without reducing them to a fully coherent or overarching structure. The dispositive, moreover, is understood as a social formation that has “as its main function” at a given historical moment “that of responding to an urgent need” (Foucault 1980, 195). In this sense, the concept of the dispositive lends itself exceptional- ly well to the analysis of past and present security practice, which similarly sees itself as responding to urgent threats and fundamental societal needs. The lens of the security dispositive brings into focus locally embedded security concepts, practices, and emotions that are invoked in the name of potential future threats. It makes it possible to identify and analyze the precise interplay of security’s administrative practices, legal categorizations, cultural imaginations, and calculative technologies, all of which are historically contingent. These dispositives comprise systems of relations that allow authorities and/or societies both to perceive and identify the security problem and to invent strategies to respond to it. As Foucault puts it: the dispositive “is thus always inscribed in a play of power, but it is also always linked to certain coordinates of knowledge which issue from it but, to an equal degree, condition it. This is what the apparatus consists in: strategies of relations of forces supporting, and

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 51 supported by, types of knowledge” (1980, 195-6). The unique character of security dispositives is their postulated urgency, immediacy, and inevitability, which is caused by the impending security breaches that are invoked and imagined. Security dispositives draw upon and produce specific forms of knowledge and techniques for anticipating, monitoring, and preventing alleged threats. Crime-fighting, critical infrastructure protection, as well as counterterrorism, are examples of such dispositives. Security (and safety) can be defined as the anticipated state of being unharmed in the future (Schinkel 2013). Security is at heart a temporal notion because “security turns its eye exclusively to the future” (Bentham cited in Zedner 2009, 29). Security considerations and risk calculations are projected to the future, but have profound relevance in the present because future states of (in)security, of famine, drought, or war, are projected to enable acting in the present (Schinkel 2013). Thus, projected future states of insecurity or unsafety tell us more about society’s lived, existential worries, fears, and values now than about objective notions of threat and safety in a stated future. Consequent- ly, in analyzing concepts and dimensions of security, it is not enough to concentrate on war and peace or on the presence or absence of threats in a given period. We also have to consider subjective and psychological emotions and expectations regarding security in a projected future (Kaufmann 1973, 156-69). At the same time, the notion of “war” has proven to be a powerful symbolic instrument to mobilize fear and anxiety and to prepare the ground for the adoption of exceptional security measures. The way in which the fight against terrorism has been reframed as a “global war” attests to this point. Security thus has become a principle in governing and ordering society: this is expressed and captured in our notion of the security dispositive. Although its orientation is towards the future, and rests upon perceptions and imaginations regarding these future threats, its effects in terms of mobilizing governmental practices and expert knowledge and implementing exceptional measures are in the present. By historicizing security, it should be possible to unpack the dynamics, methods, and normative implications of security and safety on a conceptual level as well as through empirical research. To be more concrete: we can trace the concept of security dispositives back to the discourses of ‘the fight against crime’, the ‘war on terror’ or – more recently – ‘child abuse’ and ‘cyber security’ – terms that refer both to concrete incidents or threats but that are also accompanied by prioritizing, politicizing, certain norms and values and new techniques and measures. Historians in the field of security are often at work in the field of the ‘security dispositives’ of the modern state – as it developed since the 18th century. Modernity saw the differentiation and departmentalization of security policy into welfare policy, police, intelligence (Staatsschutz), and military and foreign security (Conze 1984). However, the main underlying security dispositive since

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 52 the 18th century can be defined as starting with the following elements that weave in and out and change over time: - a rather spatial orientation (e.g., fixed on city, state borders) - the territorial state brings with it the difference between domestic and external security - a strong aspect of “taming the future” (Zwierlein 2010) - the bourgeois society and community as actor and object of “security” - values like order, discipline, commonwealth as to be protected - new technologies (of information, construction, communication) that are perceived to enhance “security” - security as process becomes the effect and the producer of frames of political action Towards the end of the nineteenth century these security dispositives became engrained in the political game. By using the conceptual tool kit provided to us by the Copenhagen School, the development and change of these security dispositives can be analysed over time. For example, if we look at the framing of church and religion as a problem of order and security the question arises: how is it that in certain periods of time specific religious minorities took centre stage in security-policy? Which risk-analyses belong to the security dispositives of the war against terrorism in the seventies or today? Was it the same for The Netherlands and Germany? Which actors had an influence at what time and why on security policy? Why did private parties gain influence? These days, we often talk about the com- mercialisation of security policy. But what about the arms dealers during the time of the Republic? Or the military-industrial complex of the first half of the 20th century? And how did ideas and opinions about what was being threatened change over time? Is terrorism a threat to the country, the society or the culture? Should the military protect our territory and borders or also ‘the public mind’? The ‘war on terror’ emerged as a new security dispositive since 2001, enabled by social media, and has led us to a new mode of security and risk governance involving techniques of ‘prepression, precaution and premedia- tion’.

3.2 The Connection of Security and Legitimacy This brings us to the second theme in this cluster. For an emerging security dispositive to become grounded, to become a tool of governance and to take hold over a territory, its inhabitants, and society, and infer itself in state bureaucracies, a sense of legitimacy is required. According to famous philosophers on the concept of legitimacy such as Max Weber, Seymour Lipset and David Easton, legitimation does not only comprise political and public support for the ‘system’, but also belief in that system and acceptance of its corresponding norms and values (Lipset 1959; Easton 1965). Legitimation is moreover

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 53 understood as a process of normative evaluation from which the “ascribed quality of legitimacy” emerges. The opposite, a back-and-forth process of contestation that undermines the existing legitimacy of institutions, is called delegitimation (Berger and Luckmann 1966, 112; Parkinson 2003, 184; Steffek 2009, 314; Van Leeuwen 2008). In “legitimatory statements,” statements are articulated that (de)legitimize a specific object of legitimation, drawing on specific “patterns of (de)legitimation” (Krell-Laluhová and Schneider 2004, 17). Legitimizing security measures, institutions, laws, or other security-driven activities, evolved in time, involved different discourses and spoke to different conditions. In what way were different security dispositives over time able to solicit and produce new forms of political legitimation, thereby presenting themselves as new ordering modes or principles for democratic societies (Zwierlein 2010)? If we take “war” or “war preparations” as one of the classical security pre- rogatives of the modern nation state, and thus as a security dispositive, different attempts to legitimate war and its ensuing resources, funds, institutions, and organizational preparations can be identified. Leonhard made a first attempt in mapping and analyzing evolving patterns of arguing, legitimizing, and mobilizing for war in four western countries (France, Germany, the UK, and the US) in the 19th and 20th century. His dispositive of “Bellizismus” was legitimized by pointing to the perceived natural needs of the emerging nation states, mobilized by the metaphysical idea of a nation’s “manifest destiny” and thus in itself legitimizing the rise of the military-industrial complex as early as the late 19th century (Leonhard 2008, 148-9). Contrary to the security dispositive of the ancient régime, that, in its traditionalist and restorative sense, was directed along notions of tradition, order, sovereignty, and divine rule, new values of nation, patrie, constitution, and honor became operative, creating new types of warring societies and security regimes (Leonhard 2008, 187). Security-policy thus carried metaphysical meaning, according to Leonhard. The way this meaning was constructed, legitimized and spilled over into policy in a sometimes almost religious fashion differed per country over time. For historians, it can be clarifying to trace the progression of security dispositives (or political agenda setting in the security-domain) and the processes of political legitimation belonging to those dispositives through time, by using the concepts mentioned in this introduction. Without turning history into a social science (and eroding its narrative-empirical base), concepts used in the social sciences enable us to gain a deeper insight into historical processes. The connection between security and political legitimacy opens up an interesting series of questions, for example those pointing to the creation and effect of conspiracy theories. Since security threats are likely to trigger processes of ‘othering’ and creating so-called ‘in- and outgroups’, and moreover feed on people’s needs to rationalize extreme misfortune or disasters happening to them, a threat very easily may slip into the construction of collective conspira-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 54 cies. The hausse of antizionist conspiracy theories around 1900 or the emergence of conspiracy-theories after ‘9/11’ underlines this point (Hofstadter 1996; Aupers 2002; McArthur 1995; Goldzwig 2002; Bartlett and Miller 2010; White 2001; Benz 2007).

3.3 Entering the Conspiracy Thus, a very specific nexus between security dispositives and political legitimacy is presented by the conspiracy. The expansion, construction, consolidation and mobilization of security regimes in modern nation states are connected with the recurring theme of the ‘conspiracy’, as an essential rhetorical, practical and philosophical tool of legitimizing these regimes. ‘Conspiracy’ functions as a legitimizing argument, serving and fuelling a larger, encompassing security regime. For example, it offered the French revolutionaries a dispositive to frame and identifying its enemies, the corrupt elites, the old noblemen of the ancien regime and their accomplices, and to construct the ‘referent object’ of their security thrust: the revolutionary constitution and the ‘sans culottes’. The conspiracy dispositive could on the other hand also be appropriated by oppositional actors, factions of parties to legitimize resistance to the perceived despot- ic rule that conspired to continue the exploitation and repression of the true ‘people’ and perverted the ‘nation’. Let me offer a brief note on conspiracy theories, as analyzed by political scientists in recent years. It can be conceptualized as a postmodern system of interpretation and signifying that is directly and inherently coupled with distrust against authorities, institutions and expert knowledge (Aupers 2000, 321).1 Conspiracy thinking has its political dimensions (MacArthur 1995, 40- 1). On the one hand, conspiracy thinking functions as a political mechanism for oppressed or disadvantaged groups seeking redress for their conditions; on the other hand, conspiracy thinking can be used as a political weapon by political entrepreneurs claiming to speak for a threatened majority. Those who feel negated by politics, or consider themselves to be insignificant, powerless and voiceless, find a powerful explanation for their feelings of unease in the rhetoric of conspiracy thinking. Goldzwig cites Mark Fenster (1991), who argues that conspiracy thinking is a way of becoming political relevant for those who have no access to traditional and formal political channels, or find politics incomprehensible and encircled with layers of secrecy. Especially political institutions and political elites are a grateful object and crystallization point to work of one’s anger and discomfort (Goldzwig 2002, 496). Conspiracy thinking can also have its effect on more extreme manifestations of distrust. Conspiracy thinking is integral part of almost every extremist ideol-

1 We owe the paragraph on the nature of conspiracy to Jelle van Buuren, PhD at the Centre for Terrorism, who works on modern day conspiracy theories in the Netherlands.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 55 ogy in which the legitimacy of the existing political and societal order is condemned (Bartlett and Miller 2010, 21; White 2001, 940). Conspiracy thinking is more than helpful in finding and localizing external enemies that can be blamed for problems that otherwise remain impersonal and abstract. Secret elite groups or under class parasites are believed to conspire in a bet to control history. Social conflicts are being simplified by attributing all kind of problems to demonized populations (idem, 954). Goldzwig argues that the popularity of conspiracy thinking is a sign of political disenfranchisement and can be the forerunner of violence (idem, 498). Acts of terrorism in the United States (the Oklahoma Bombing, de UNA-bomber, the Branch Davidians) for instance had political-ideological stamps, but also indistinct and paranoia motives that can be subscribed to conspiracy thinking and, for their part, nourished other conspiracy theories. Rather than elaborating on this universalist, social scientist model, we like to bring the ‘conspiracy dispositive’ back to history, and to analyze it as a ‘second tier’ or functional ‘sub-security’ dispositive, encompassing both ‘real’ and ‘imagined’ conspiracies as historical forces (Caumanns and Niendorf 2001). Rather than attempting to discern between ‘real’ conspiracies and purported ones, we focus on its functional character in a given moment of time. On an epistemological plane, distinguishing between imagination and reality is impossible, since a conspiracy theory is preconceived to rationalize and integrate all cognitive dissonances into its master narrative, leaving no room for alternative explanations. Therefore, not the content, but conspiracy as a function bear- er and legitimizing tool is being addressed here. The dawn of early modern history, beginning with Machiavelli already saw the rise of political theories on conspiracies, although in late mediaeval and early modern times, the congiure lacked at first the transcendental dimension (Fasano Guarini 2010, 155-207). However, only after a modern approach to politics arrived, defined by a combination of both rational, ‘worldly’ components and non-rational, transcendental or even apocalyptic visions on society, the nation or the state, ‘conspiracies’ became an important political dispositive directing actions and planning. A first instance of operating conspiracy dispositives in order to serve political aims took place during the ‘confessional age’, when Calvinists and Puritans and to a lesser extent also Catholics adopted anti-Christian conspiracies to delegitimize the other confession’s place in politics (Thorp 1984; Coward and Swann 2004; Bercé and Guarini 1996; Zwierlein 2006; Benz 2007). From that time onwards, conspiracies were common to modern politics, involving either ‘counter-revolutionaries’, ‘terrorists’, ‘Jews’, ‘Jesuits’ or ‘Muslims’. In almost all instances, they served as a leverage and legitimizing tool to enhance and underpin existing or emerging security regimes. Or: to legitimize counter- securitization moves and resistance to securitizing agencies (Graaf 2012).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 56 To summarize, without claiming to provide a full theory of conspiracy theories, modern conspiracy dispositives share a number of common traits, amongst which: - Their attributive status: ‘conspiracy’ is predominantly attributed to historical actors or entities by others; hardly anyone would claim to belong to an ‘anti- Christian conspiracy’ (at least, without being tortured into admitting as much). - Their purported transnational character: a conspiracy dispositive’s legitimacy is enhanced by pointing to the ‘alien’, ‘foreign’, ‘anti-national’ or ‘anti-patriotic’ components it harbours. Conspiracies thereby explicitly go against the grain of modernity’s differentiating character: conspiracies undermine the clear-cut labour division of domestic/external security - Their epistemological impossibility: conspiracies are conceived as hidden, invisible, operating behind the scenes, along the lines of a ‘master plan’, a ‘dark force’ in the background. Everything that points to a more mundane explanation is re-written to fit into this preconfigured notion of the conspirational master plan, thereby ruling out any empirical, sobering approach to the conspiracy dispositive. - Their destructive potential: purported conspiracies bear the grain of complete annihilation of society, the nation, the state of the political regime by means of infiltrating, subverting, infesting and infecting them. - These traits also hold true, mutatis mutandis, if applied to the ‘counter conspiracy dispositives’, as arising from the heart of society and directed against the state or the ruling classes. - However, notwithstanding the hybris and megalomania attributed to the conspirational threat, the dispositive also holds the possibility of its sudden revelation, its discovery and of nipping it in the bud – provided, the counter- conspirators or anti-conspirators receive full control and resources to make sure of that. Both dispositives do need, use and feed each other: - The state refers to conspiracies to identify and frame its ‘enemies’, mobilize support against them, vote for more resources to combat this threat and to legitimize adoption of new security measures and laws. - Non-state actors operate the conspiracy dispositive with the same aim of delegitimizing the state’s rule and ruling practices. - Both dispositives invoke a sense of urgency, immediacy and inevitability of a given security threat that calls for counter-activities that are framed as urgent, immediate and inevitable as the purported threats. - Conspiracy dispositives also involve and draw on new informational, communicational and technical means to make visible and disseminate the ‘image of the enemy’ amongst the various constituencies. We argue that new conspiracy dispositives almost always also went hand in glove with the invention, application and professionalization of new new techniques of in-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 57 formation, communication and transportation even in early modern times, that were inferred into existing security dispositives and gradually shaped and changed these.

4. Historicizing Security – A Methodological Approach

Security history can be written as a continuous rise, flow and changing series of security dispositives, operated and legitimized through a number of second tier dispositives, such as the stated conspiracy dispositive. Applying these concepts unpacks the development of modern developments of security history and opens a window on the changes in security thinking over time. Dispositives mark a contraction, often a moment in time and space, where new techniques, scientific methods, approaches, political constellations and outbursts of discon- tent weave into a ‘heterogeneous assemblage of discursive and material elements to take on social issues’ (Foucault 2004; Aradau and Van Munster 2008, 24), enabled through the discovery of industrial and commercial applications of new information- and communication technologies, used and embraced both by state representatives, commercial agents and ‘security subject’/agents of insecurity. With this Special Issue, we would like to introduce and to operationalize this new way of analyzing security history and to test some of our hypotheses concerning the history and structure of the two dispositives. We make the claim that modern security planning hinges on a new way of perceiving the proximate and distal context through new means of informational, communicational and technological means. The emergence of anonymous, free flowing news reports, through leaflets, diplomatic channels, public declarations and increasing new forms of ‘journals’ since the 16th, 17th century enabled a greater plurality of actors to participate in or receive knowledge of the process of political decision making. This communication or ‘news’ revolution (overlapping, but dissimilar to Habermas normative concept of the emergence of a ‘kritische Öffentlich- keit’) offered an anonymous representation of the contemporaries’ ‘world’, which they could monitor and interpret as they saw fit. This news revolution was a landmark in the development of modern political thinking (Zwierlein 2006, 198-294). It opened up the confined space and time of the local village or the individual court and enabled citizens to tune in into a larger community, it fundamentally altered the spatial and territorial landscapes of the early modern states, thereby also making deep inroads into the realm of security thinking. Modernity and the rise of the modern nation state on the one hand saw the differention and division between domestic and external security, and the professionalization and departmentalization of politics. On the other hand, the new modes of informing, reading, interpreting,

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 58 transporting and communicating enabled citizens to develop a bird’s eye perspective on daily, or rather weekly or monthly, business of European politics. This communicational dimension also was inferred into the security domain: producing, framing and identifying security threats went into a substantial higher gear. Conspiracy pamphlets, letters, texts proliferated through modern history, and went hand in glove with new representations of the world. The perception of the world as an interconnected, manageable space returned in exaggerated forms in the idea of conspiracies being able to operate globally, as being responsible for seemingly disconnected hazards and chances, interpreting coincidences as causalities. Conspiracy texts – either formulated by state security actors or by non-state actors – often interpret a sequence of actions (meetings of heads of states, military or diplomatic activities) portrayed in the media as symptoms of an underlying master plot, against which another master plot has to be put in action to neutralize the first one. At the same time, as soon as the conspiracy idea was rooted and accepted by specific authorities, and possibly legitimized by the public at large, it easily dictated its own conspirational governance logics: leading to expansion of executive power, metastazing bureaucracies and criminalizing suspect segments of the population. In historical case studies on conspiracy as a modern day security dispositive, special attention thus should be devoted to 1) The securitizing actors. Who speaks security, who operates the conspiracy dispositif; which party, faction of organization wields enough power to per- suade and perform its securitizing moves? 2) The way the referent subject is defined, e.g. how broad or narrow the conspiring circles are cast. Are they located in a specific gang, family, city or territory, or connected to a confession, culture, ideology, or even described in an eugenetical sense? 3) The way the ‘referent object’ is perceived, e.g. that what has to be defended and prevented from being threatened: what is purportedly at stake? Are vul- nerabilities located along the territorial borders, do they regard the person of the ruler, the elites or is the national culture, cohesion and ‘way of living’ as such considered to be endangered? 4) The conjunctures, flows and peaks of conspiracy communication. When do conspiracy allegations emerge? How do new informational, communicational and/or technological techniques serve to enhance this conspiracy dispositive? We introduce ‘technologies of imagination’ (Schinkel 2011) – techniques, aimed at visualizing and representing the threat – as an important factor here. New means of gathering intelligence, of drafting reports and estimates do matter, as do the velocities with which arms carriers can be operated and transported.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 59 5) And what new modes of security governance and risk assessment techniques are invoked, legitimized and deployed by the embracement of the conspirational threat on the agenda. By answering these questions in different countries over different periods of time, and focusing on the specific sub-type of the conspiracy dispositive we are able to unpack the way security regimes change over time, thereby not only underlining but also operating the constructivist character of security and conspiracy politics in Modern History.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 64 Security Politics and Conspiracy Theories in the Emerging European State System (15th/16th c.)

∗ Cornel Zwierlein

Abstract: »Sicherheitspolitik und Verschwörungstheorien im entstehenden eu- ropäischen Staatensystem (15./16. Jh.)«. The article develops a new definition of conspiracy theory more apt for historicizing purposes than the existing systematic and philosophical ones. It shows that modern conspiracy narratives do appear only with the Renaissance. Also, ‘security‘ as the aim of state and international politics became important only now during the Italian Renaissance while the term and concept had been nearly forgotten during the Middle Ages. The article shows then that both, security politics in practice and political language as well as modern conspiracy narratives belong to the new type of political communication which emerged with inter-territorial diplomacy in 15th century Italy (example: Lorenzo de‘ Medici) and with the first emerging information public sphere in 16th century Europe (example: conspiracicsm during the French Wars of Religion). The narrative modus of analyzing the present state of affairs, of constructing reality and of planning and conjecturing in that form of political communication is highly similar to the construction of conspiracy narratives. All modern forms of opposition between security and conspiracy theories can be seen as derivatives of that Renaissance constellation. Keywords: renaissance, conspiracy theory, security politics, Lorenzo de‘ Medici, information public sphere, diplomacy, Huguenots, French Wars of Religion, Ca- millo Capilupi, Charles IX of France, Gaspard de Coligny, St Bartholomew’s massacre, state system, Francesco Guicciardini.

1. Introduction

Security History has for some years been an emerging field of research complementing the already existing fields of security studies in political and social sciences (Zwierlein 2012 with further references). Conspiracies and conspiracy theories have also attracted more and more interest from historians, often due to current developments on the contemporary political scene.1 But both fields

∗ Cornel Zwierlein, Fakultät für Geschichtswissenschaften, Historisches Institut, Ruhr-Uni- versität Bochum, Universitätsstr. 150, 44801 Bochum, Germany; [email protected]. 1 For the conspiracy “mania” after 9/11 in the US cf. Knight (2002), Melley (2000), Barkun (2003); at the same time, several important studies on conspiracy history of other epochs have also been published: Pagán (2004), Pagán (2008), Roisman (2006) for Greek and Ro-

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 65-95 Ň© GESIS of historical research are still only beginning to define their objects and to have a clear idea under which historical circumstances what kind of means of security production and what kind of conspiracy theories developed or are developing: the objects of investigation are often not clearly defined, nor has a relationship between the two – security politics and proliferation of conspiracy theories – been traced. But clearly, conspiracies are always threats to the security of someone or something and in political history, by “conspiracy” one would always mean a threat to the commonwealth, the state, its government, many or all of these or parts of them. Conspiracies therefore endanger the core of internal and/or external security. I will concentrate on those conspiracy theories which refer to a danger for the security of an actor in the emerging early modern state system or of the whole group of states. I will argue that conspiracy theories are types of narrative which are genuinely linked to a specific context of news communication and interpretation, the (early) modern character of time horizons, and the narratives of methodological planning that became familiar in Renaissance politics: conspiracy theories as narratives are a sister genre of political analysis, planning and project narratives. Both use the information of “true” present and/or past facts such as deeds and movements of political actors as perceived in their newsletters, avvisi, dispatches and journals, draw connections between them, interpret coincidences as causalities and give a sense to the whole. The political project tries to predict possible outcomes from a given starting situation if one adds this or that action to it; it often outlines a tableau of different possible futures. The conspiracy theory gives an ex-post explanation for an event or a deed showing a different possible past from the prevalent normally accepted narrative of that past. Often this different possible past is also narrated to make a certain (mostly threatening) possible future plausible, so past and future narratives go hand in hand.2 To be plausible, the conspiracy theory has also to be fed by a good deal of “true” and commonly accepted factual elements. But we will develop that in greater detail below. First we will discuss in more detail the state of the art in security history, conspiracy (theory) history, the problems of definition involved, especially the problems of not giving ahistorical systematic definitions, but rather definitions that enable historicization (Section 2). Second, I will show in a little case study

man history; Coward/Swann (2004) and Bercé/Fasano-Guarini (1996) for early modern history; Campbell/Kaiser (2007) and Tackett (2000) for the French Revolution; Cubitt (1993) for France in the 19th century; Monier (1998) for the beginning of the 20th century; hereafter many studies on the post-war conspiracies (from McCarthysm to 9/11); Horn/Rabinbach (2008) as a recent special issue covering the epochs already mentioned. Historical interest in “conspiracy” seems to be a bit less for the Middle Ages. 2 I do gratefully acknowledge the exchange on ‚future narratives‘ with Christoph Bode and his team at the Center of Advanced Studies in Munich, March 2012, which has partly inspired this passage. The first volume of the project will be published with de Gruyter in 2013 under the title Future Narratives: Theory, Poetics, and Media-Historical Moment.“

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 66 of Lorenzo de’ Medici’s political correspondence and the 15th century so- called “Italian state system” the typical structures and elements of the narratives of political present time situation analysis: the political aim of Lorenzo was always to maintain the “sicurtà d’Italia”; where he analyzes the political present and calculates a possible future, his reasoning on “hidden intentions” and “secrets” of other actors on the political scene already comes close to patterns of conspiracy plots. Florentine political theory a generation later, by Machiavelli among others, already reflects this (Section 3). Third, I will show how the combination of this new Renaissance model of political communication, situation analysis and planning with the new patterns of confessional schism (e.g. identification of actions as planned by the Antichrist) produced the first fully developed early modern politico-religious international conspiracy theories in Europe; but as we will show for the case of the St. Bartholomew’s massacre, the step from an elaborated rationalist ex-post explanation of past actions to a conspiracy theory can be as small as the switching of the printing location of such a narrative from Rome to Geneva in 1572/74 (Section 4).

2. Security and Conspiracy History, Renaissance State System: Problems of Definition

“Security” is such a general concept that, on the one hand, it is omnipresent in all fields of historical research; on the other hand, a closer look reveals that there is not yet a specialized sub-discipline or field that bears this title. While in political sciences, criminology, sociology, jurisprudence and, especially, international relations security studies is a broadly recognized subject of research (cf. Daase 2012; Walt 1991; Lipschutz 1995; Krause and Williams 1997; Waever and Buzan 2007), history has not yet established a corresponding field. Important contemporary changes in the concepts and practices of “security production” after the end of the Cold War (the emergence of “extended, comprehensive, human security”, the gradual disappearance of the border between internal and external security) have caused our historical perception of “security” to change massively and historiography to respond to this challenge (Zwier- lein and Graf 2010; Zwierlein 2011a; Zwierlein 2011b; Zwierlein 2012). In Contemporary History, International Security and many other security topics have always been considered. However, in the field of Early Modern History, “History of Security” remains a rather unexplored topic (but cf. Härter 2003; Rothschild 1995; Kampmann 2010). Even the history of the notion of securitas/security/sûreté (...) is always studied in relation to some precise points and regions. There are only a few rare fixed points of secure knowledge about “security”: securitas has one important ascendance in stoic philosophy and means the state of absence of curae, the tranquillitas animi. As a political concept, we already find it in Cicero’s letters (Epist. ad Quint. fratr. 3,7,3; Cic.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 67 Acad. post. 1,11), but the idea that the cura reipublicae has to be aimed at the securitas of the empire is developed only under the emperors from Nero to Trajan (Instinsky 1952; Bennett 2001, 72; Hamilton 2013); the allegory, deity and virtue of securitas publica is a Roman imperial invention. During the Eu- ropean Middle Ages, the concept and the notion of securitas is no longer very present. The prevailing corresponding notion is pax: In a time where interpersonal relationships dominated, the peace between nobles, princes and kings was the decisive model, not security which seems to be connected with a spatial extension, a sphere: security is and prevails in a state or in a state system. Likely, in the Middle Ages we encounter “security” mostly where a spatial dimension is touched on: securitates are the safeguards and letters of consign- ment of people travelling on the roads (Lingelbach 2009; Rüther 2010); the invention of the prime insurance as assi/ecuratio is linked to the dangerous maritime transport, a transport in a risky space (Torre 2000; Ceccarelli 2001; Zwierlein 2011, 24-39). But it is only in the context of the early Italian territorial states, republics and principalities that sicur(i)tà again becomes a frequent term of political reasoning, a political aim and virtue. To my knowledge, no study in detail on that subject, on “sicurtà” in the Italian political language of the Renaissance, exists so far (cf. the Lemmata in Battaglia XVIII, 344-47, 424, 1058-73), but if we go through the recently edited volumes of 15th century political letters and diplomatic dispatches of the Sforza, the Gonzaga, Ven- ice, Naples, Florence and the Pope, the frequency of the use of “securità” is very high and it now emerges as a guiding principle and a central political notion and concept; while we may also find “securitas” in this or that citation in earlier medieval texts, it practically never has the status of a key notion of political orientation. Now, the princes and diplomats were in fear of threats to the security of one state, to the security of a league of states and of “tutta Ita- lia”, which meant the interdependent system of all states. So, if we are looking for the relationship between security and conspiracy, it makes perfect sense to concentrate on the Italian Renaissance as a laboratory of its development, because it is only then that “security” becomes a guiding principle, and we have to ask how that seemingly obvious shifting of epochs is also to be identified in the realm of “conspiracy (theories)”. The recent literature on conspiracy theories and their history is a little bit more systematic than the literature on security history. Quickly, with a philosopher, we find a definition of “conspiracy theory”: A conspiracy theory is a proposed explanation of some historical event (or events) in terms of the significant causal agency of a relatively small group of persons, the conspirators, acting in secret. [...] It proffers an explanation of the event in question. It proposes reasons why the event occurred (Keeley 1999, 116). This is a general definition which seems to work, even if the only slightly more specific part of it (“a relatively small group of persons”) is already disputable.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 68 The definition just points to the main function of a conspiracy theory as theory to explain a past event. I would add to that explanatory function at least two other functions which are nearly always to be found: the appellative-affective function to stimulate a certain (re)action or simply an identity enhancement, mainly within the community sharing the same values that are important for the explanatory power of the theory; and the propaganda and denunciation function to delegitimize a certain group or person directed (not only, but also) to the public outside that community. Some other contributors to the definition or characterization of conspiracy theories add one or several of the following points (cf. the summary in Girard 2008, 752, who adds even a fourth point): a) The belief in conspiracy (theories) exists and spreads as a result of paranoid personalities or cultures; b) Conspiracy (theories) are successful because they simplify complex constellations; c) Conspiracy (theories) are more widespread within groups under pressure / marginal groups. The first point has been stressed early by Hofstadter and the school of socio- psychological interpretation (Hofstadter 1963), but it is of doubtful usefulness; especially for premodern societies, where all the elements of a Freudian bourgeois individuality and corresponding psychology are not yet present, this criterion is not at all applicable. The second point is disputable because conspiracy theories are at least double-faceted: they may have a simplifying impact if they give an answer to an open question (who did this, who organized that...?). But on the other hand, they also add complexity to the world, because every new conspiracy theory adds a narrative of a possible past to the reservoir of possible pasts and explanations; people have to choose what to believe and what not to – this rather increases contingency and complexity than reduces it (similarly Pagán 2008, 60). The third point seems to be historically often true: marginal groups or at least (even large) groups which are in a defensive position often produce conspiracy theories. This is why, as stated above, the explanatory function is only one epistemological asset: the reason why minorities propagate conspiracy theories is mostly grounded in the above-mentioned appellative-affective and denunciatory function. But all the discussion of these points and parts of the definition does not explain one of its crucial deficits, its rather ahistorical status. In all the literature on the history of conspiracy theory, either there is no attempt to define the object, or the criteria for which precise elements of the object are to be historicized and how are not, or only vaguely, reflected upon. Likely, this problem starts in Keeley’s definition at the point where he does not consider that the explanatory function of conspiracy theories alone is not narrow enough a criterion: what makes the difference between “normal” rational narratives of possible pasts on the one hand and conspiracy theories on the other? If a committee of historians, after thorough empirical investigation, were to form a narrative

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 69 that explained why a past event happened, revealing a plan by a small group of men which had in fact been executed, this would not be a conspiracy theory – but it would fulfill Keeley’s definition. So, it is important to take the medium context of the “explanation” into account, the narrative of a possible past. “Conspiracy theory is a kind of storytelling that purports truth and credibility. In this sense, it is much like history; however, history supports its claims to truth and credibility with evidence and testimony” (Pagán 2008, 47). A conspiracy theory is typically a narrative of a possible past constructed with the material of a large amount of facts that have really happened and that are commonly accepted as “real” and other fictitious, or at least not proven and not commonly accepted, elements which are supposed to have happened.3 Some- times the conspiracy theory just adds the connection and the causalities between the elements (accepted as “real”). So, the difference between a conspiracy theory and another, e.g. historical, reconstruction of the past lies in the amount of not-proven elements or of elements not commonly accepted as “real” forming the body of the narrative. The difference between a conspiracy theory and a – e.g. literary – fiction lies in the claim implicitly communicated by a conspiracy theory of nevertheless explaining what really happened, even if not proven and (because of lack of information, a secret...) not provable elements and causal connections are formative parts of the narrative. If a sober analyst denounces these elements as “pure fiction”, the conspiracy theorist will always insist on their factuality. So, a conspiracy theory is a narrative of a possible past with not-proven elements that can and have to be believed if the explanation function of the theory is to fulfill its task (similarly Pagán 2008, 29); vice versa, you cannot believe in a literary fictional past narrative – or if you do so, you are excluding yourself from “normal society” grounded in common reality. So, conspiracy theories lie, epistemologically, in the middle between factual historical and literary fictional writing. It is therefore not surprising that as many literature specialists have shown interest in conspiracy theories as historians – still, without giving fully convincing definitions either (cf. e.g. Antriopoulos 2008). Nonetheless, the borderline between “normal” historical explanative narratives and “conspiracy theories” is very thin and unclear: in a given situation where a lot of information is lacking, competing speculative narratives of possible pasts are often narrated, tested, discussed; arguments pro and contra for the likeliness of one or the other narrative are exchanged; often many of those competing narratives and competing explanations of an event remain through time; some people believe one to be more probable, some another – but all that occurs without each of those competing

3 There is a similarity to those science fiction stories which start with the account of a known and accepted past reality and which slip over elegantly to a narrative of a fantastic future (e.g. Golem by Stanisław Lem) – except that the time horizon of the “real” and fictitious elements of a conspiracy theory is the same: the past or the extended present.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 70 narratives being seen as a conspiracy theory. What makes the difference? Sometimes the difference may lie in a certain added “metaphysical” component – that the hidden power or group who planned and executed the event has supernatural or at least very uncommon resources of knowledge and power. But that would not be a necessity. Probably the element to be added is that a narrative of a possible past which may be believed becomes a conspiracy theory when it contains and adheres to the moral judgement that the event executed is a (shocking, scandalous) evil; necessarily, a conspiracy theory can only be true or at least likely and believable within a given community of values. The amount of belief that is necessary to complement the explanation in the place where it contains fictitious elements often comes in just where convictions and (pre)judgements about an enemy as actor are strong: “al-Quaïda is so evil, cunning and powerful that only they could have done that”. Contrary to a simple narrative of a possible past, where the criterion for the necessary amount of belief to be added where the explanatory narrative bridges gaps of knowledge is rather undefined and contingent, with conspiracy theories this amount of belief and its content are drawn from the set of convictions shared by the respective community of values. Still, these elements cannot completely trans- gress the boundaries of a shared representation of reality. As we see by the inductive argument of definition above, the status and character of what is to be held as “reality” in a society is decisive for the functioning of conspiracy theories (as well as for historical and literary narratives). The distinction between fictional and factual narratives, the consciousness of that division in a given society and among the recipients and communicators of conspiracy theories is crucial. And this distinction is itself a historical and historicizable one. Only quite recently, research has started to investigate the processes of differentiation between those realms (strangely, an entirely Ger- man discussion, if I have not overseen other contributions: Müller 2007, 37; Müller 2004; Haug 2003; Kablitz 2003; Zwierlein and Ressel 2013). It is clear that the division between fiction and factuality is different in the 13th and in the 21st century. The status of “literary” artifacts like the chansons des gestes with respect to “reality” is not that clear: in a certain way, what was narrated about Arthur was also held to be “real” and “true”. The narrative complex that formed the witchcraft discourse from the 15th to the 18th century was held to be true by all serious intellectuals and judges; its denunciation as “witchcraft illusion” from the 19th century onwards is a judgement taken from the perspective of a new and different consciousness of the borderline between “reality” and “fiction”. That the true church is fighting against the Antichrist (in the disguise of the Pope or a heretical prince) was the conviction of Protestants as well as militant Catholics about reality during the 16th and 17th century wars of religion. A conspiracy theory with explanatory power for the early European State System in the 16th/17th century might well contain those metaphysical actors as causal agencies – even if there is plenty of space for discussion of

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 71 whether the realm of diplomatic communication and of the inner circles of policy-making had not already arrived at a level of soberness that allowed, at least in certain contexts and times, to distinguish sharply between cose politiche/political affairs and divine matters. Approximately, we may say that the metaphysical contents of conspiracy theories were more adapted to the early modern printed public sphere, while the manuscripts of possible past and future narratives produced and, to a smaller extent, circulating in political circles tended much less to be conspiracy theories at all, and if they can be identified as such, their explanatory power stems much less from those supernatural levels of reality assumption. So, the differentiation and distinction between fictional and factual in the consciousness of European societies also has to do with the complex and much discussed (and also denied) process of “secularization”. The crucial point of a really historical notion (and definition) of conspiracy theories lies not in the discussion of the formal points exposed above with respect to Keeley’s and others’ rather philosophical definitions, but rather in an approach of how to grasp and characterize the form of “reality” and its boundaries experienced by contemporaries in general and in distinct spheres of communication of their time. Because it is the representation function of past and future narratives, the match or mismatch with “reality”, that decides upon their “possibility”, and it is the degree of “possibility” that decides upon the explanatory power and the likeliness of reconstructions of the present state of affairs, of projects as well as of conspiracy theories; for the latter it is especially the question of the degree to which they can be believed. So, the form and usual structure of reality perception is the changing pragmatic context and frame of reference for our narratives. To historicize “conspiracy theories” means more than anything else to historicize the representations of reality, of factuality and fiction; it means historicizing the forms of narratives that have the task of representing the world itself and that are the material and the explanatory object of conspiracy theories at the same time. The historicization of the convictions which a certain community of values held at that time and which enter at the crucial point of the knowledge gaps which a conspiracy theory bridges is much easier, but certainly also necessary for a historical definition of conspiracy theories. If we add up all the elements developed above, a – necessarily more complex – definition of conspiracy theories with the capacity of historicization would be: A conspiracy theory is a narrative of a possible past and present, often also containing elements of future predictions, claiming to be the true representation of the past and present which is built from some commonly accepted elements (“facts”, sequential and causal relationships) and some elements that are not proven but possible and that bridge the gaps of knowledge and understanding concerning a certain event or a sequence of events. The possibility of the formative elements of the narrative depends on the character of the representation of reality in the given society and the form of distinction between

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 72 fiction and factuality accessible in that time and that society. The not-proven elements of the conspiracy narrative are mostly adapted to the convictions of a given community of values. A conspiracy theory mostly has an explanatory, an appellative-affective and a denunciation function. The explanatory power of the conspiracy theory depends on the belief of its recipients and users and is usually strong only within the given community of values. Mostly the conspiracy theory attributes the significant causal agency of the event (or the sequence of events) in question to one person or a small group identified as a dangerous enemy within the value system of the respective community of values. If we come back to the question of epochal or context specificity of our objects in question, I would suppose that the typical (early) modern conspiracy theories which we have in mind when we try to find historical equivalents to 9/11 or Kennedy murder conspiracy theories is only to be found in Europe from (a large) Renaissance onwards – as is the case for the more or less fully developed notion of political, and foremost state, “security”. At least in the literature that I know, this has not been pointed out, but it is already telling that the Middle Ages are typically not present in the collective volumes cited. Conspiracies themselves, certainly, have always existed since human beings have gathered in groups. But more or less elaborated conspiracy theories as narratives present within a group and in a certain public sphere seem to presuppose a) a certain kind of media context, b) a certain use and habitus of narrating political events, c) a certain, even if implicit, consciousness of a distinction between fiction and factuality, d) the already-cited kind of public sphere and corresponding sphere of secrecy in everyday politics. To put it briefly, all this seems to be present in classical antiquity,4 but seems to regain importance only with the Renaissance, with new forms of steady economic and political information flows inaugurated after the Aragonese “paper revolution” and the import of paper to Italy (cf. Burns 1983; Hills 1993; Zwierlein 2010), with the establishment of the system of postal relais stations and hence of the communication networks of Mediter- ranean proto-capitalist economics and inter-territorial political diplomacy (Melis 1973; Senatore 1998; Zwierlein 2006; Behringer 2003). The study of the historical relationships between the emergence of these new forms of communication and such “hard” things as new institutions or even “the state” on the one hand, and such “soft” things as ways of thinking, semantics and narrative forms on the other, has not been developed in depth. But what are “states” and what was the emerging “state system”? In the end, those complexes of institutional arrangements that are states rely on specific forms and types of communication framed by some common patterns of perception. The controlling of a

4 But note that Roisman 2006 indeed shows how conspiracy theories were to a large extent part of the Attic rhetoricians’ culture, while Pagán 2004 does not treat the spread and discussion of conspiracy theories in Rome, but treats the ex-post historical narratives of the revealed “real” (Catilinarian, Bacchanalian, Pisonian...) conspiracies.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 73 network of office holders “inside” and “outside” the state from a center is one of the most important features – possible only with the help of paper-based communication. All the well-known past discussions in historiography – for example about the meaning and the exact moment of the emergence of steady diplomacy, about the transformation of the role of magistrates and public servants (Mattingly 1955; Queller 1966; Frigo 2000); or about the formation of the territorial states in general (Tilly 1990; Chittolini et al. 1994; Reinhardt 1999; Fasano-Guarini 1978) could and should be reformulated with serious attention to the structures and also the “soft” forms of communication applied. How did the new forms of communication change the perception of their inventors and participants? One argument that I have brought forward elsewhere more in extenso is that the new forms of daily and weekly, sometimes hourly, writing down of information, of narrating the present state of affairs was at the heart of state business; that it became the main practice of state business itself; and that it stimulated some new modes of perception or “frames of thought”: addicted- ness to actual “live” information; empiricism in approaching the necessary data for making decisions; comparatism between the observed enemies and partners of the observer. The “system of state” is first of all a status of consciousness among the participant state actors of belonging to that modus of communication in which every prince and every republican knows that he is a political observer observed by others, and that all their actions are embedded in that network of interdependencies. The question of when those types of state communication were first reflected in systematic treatises of administration sciences, public law and diplomacy training as “state system” is an important one,5 but secondary to the question of when the structural conditions of that kind of perception were first installed; here we can debate, as has been done, about the centuries and decades, but the classical dating around 1450 has good archival evidence on its side because the long archival series of regularly communicated dispatches and political letters between center (prince, republic) and peripheries (office holders, ambassadors) start at that time in Italy. It is in this context that the distinctions between “internal” and “external” affairs, between “internal” and “external” security, between an emerging public sphere and the secrecy of arcane politics, between simulation, dissimulation and real actions appear as well as those concepts that refer to the above-mentioned interdependency of states, foremost the famous “equilibrium”, measurement of alliances and allies, neutrality (Zwierlein 2006b). All those patterns of perception and interpretation of politics in the state system are strongly expressed in the political letters and

5 Cf. for that question Klueting (1986), Strohmeyer (1992), Muhlack (1998), Muhlack (2003) – a question belonging foremost to German-speaking historiography because the sources (political “science” of that system) emerged foremost as an offspring of academic public, natural and international law taught at 17th/18th century German universities. E.g. Anderson (1998) uses the term “state system” but does not study its conceptual history in depth.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 74 in those texts that were produced to analyze situations, to give advice – in the Consulte e pratiche in Florence, in the counsel of a prince or the republican government, in the semi-public sphere of circulating political communication at the European princely and papal courts: projects, discorsi, memoirs. Every actor as observer in that system of inter-state communication tried to grasp as completely as possible the present state of affairs and tried to make projections about its possible futures. So, the concern for and even the fear about having the best information, about not missing important news, and then the narrative mode of constructing possible time horizons, mostly possible futures, was inscribed into that system. When the first kind of public spheres were added to that system of diplomatic communication – by the way: as a non-intended effect of outsourcing processes within that same diplomatic communication (Zwierlein 2006, 265-272) – the context was stabilized where complex conspiracy narratives as inverted future narratives (Discorsi etc.) could spread because they fitted perfectly into the general mode of narrating and reasoning. Having stated all these things rather in abstracto and in general, it will be good to look more closely at the chosen examples, attempting to demonstrate what has been said in the sources of 15th /16th statecraft and public communication.

3. Lorenzo de’ Medici: Concern for Information, Concern for Security, Narrating Past, Present and Future

Lorenzo de’ Medici (1449-1492), il Magnifico, is not only famous as the great patron of Florentine arts and culture in its golden age, but he is also perhaps the most prominent Renaissance politician of all. We are used to speaking of the “myth” of Lorenzo, because, certainly, the following generation of humanists and politicians – Bernardo Ruccellai, Machiavelli, Guicciardini – began in- stantly after his death to praise his deeds and talents, and that image became a topos in the early modern collective memory of arts as well as in political theory. But nevertheless, a huge amount of research concentrated on his person and his age; not least, the important edition of his letters (of which nearly 2000 have been published until now) has contributed both to deconstructing some aspects of the myth and to strengthening our picture of his still impressive capacities of organizing economics, arts and politics of Florence from his position as “uncrowned” head of state behind the façade of the late republic (among recent general biographies are Delle Donne 2003, Kent 2004, Unger 2008; many collective volumes are the fruit of several conferences devoted to the 500th anniversary of his death and give a good introduction to the state of the art in the different fields of research, e.g. Toscani 1993, Heintze et al. 1995, Mallett and Mann 1996, Garfagnini 1994). Lorenzo has become famous as something like the inventor of balance-of-power politics due to famous charac-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 75 terizations of his political aims and style after his death by Bernardo Ruccellai, Francesco Guicciardini, Niccolò Machiavelli and later on by Giovanni Botero, Scipione Ammirato and many others (Pillinini 1970). But in the famous passage of Guicciardini’s storia d’Italia devoted to Lo- renzo de’ Medici at the moment of his death and cited in every story of the concept of state systems, not only is the notion of “equilibrium” – under the common name of “contrapeso” – expressed prominently for the first time in a quite systematic reasoning, but Lorenzo is also hailed as the sustainer of Italy’s common security (“sicurtà comune”).6 Stability of the state system, “tranquil- lità” and “security” are synonymous. Strange to say, this important strategic use of the term “security”, which can be placed with good reasons in a quite direct genealogy7 from the notion of “international security” as we know it from the present context, is seldom cited in the current rebirth of interest in security history.8 Not only in this famous passage but throughout the works of Guicciardini, we find the idea that Lorenzo (or sometimes also others) cared about stabilizing the “sicurtà d’Italia”, the security of all states together in their interdependent relationship, while other states (Milan, Venice, Naples) always cared only about their own security. In his letters we see that Lorenzo in fact always tried to form a “liga universale”, a universal alliance of all Italian states convincing them that their common security would also be to the benefit of every particular security. Probably behind that politics was not only the idealistic longing for the peace and welfare of Italy but also the sober reasoning that, especially for economic affairs and merchant communication in Italy, peace

6 “[1492] [...] Tale era lo stato delle cose, tali erano i fondamenti della tranquillità d’Italia, disposti e contrappesati in modo, che non solo di alterazione presente non si temeva, ma nè si poteva facilmente congetturare da quali consigli, o per quali casi, o con quali armi si aves- se a muovere tanta quiete; quando nel mese d’Aprile dell’anno mille quattrocento novan- tadue sopravenne la morte di Lorenzo de’ Medici: morte acerba a lui per l’età (perchè morì non finiti ancora quarantaquattro anni); acerba alla patria, la quale per la reputazione e prudenza sua, e per l’ingegno attissimo a tutte le cose onorate ed eccellenti, fioriva mara- vigliosamente di ricchezze, e di tutti quei beni ed ornamenti, da’ quali suole essere nelle cose umane la lunga pace accompagnata: ma fu morte incomodissima ancora al resto d’Italia, così per le altre operazioni, le quali da lui per la sicurtà comune continuamente si facevano; come perchè era mezzo a moderare, e quasi un freno ne’ dispareri e ne’ sospetti, i quali per diverse cagioni tra Ferdinando e Lodovico Sforza, Principi d’ambizione e di potenza quasi pari, spesse volte nascevano. Da che molti forse, non inettamente seguitando quel che di Crasso tra Pompeio e Cesare dissero gli antichi, l’assomigliavano a quello stretto, il quale congiungendo il Peloponneso, oggi detto la Morea, al resto della Grecia, impedisce che l’onde de’ mari Jonio ed Egeo tumultuosamente insieme non si mescolino.” (Guicciardini 1988, I, 2, 9). 7 At least as much a direct genealogy as we are used to establish between the Italian state system of the 15th century and the modern world system of states. 8 Conze (1984, 843) for example treats the corresponding problem only for the 17th/18th century, referring to Hahlweg (1959): This is due to the fact that he concentrates only on the German political language.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 76 would be much more helpful than war, a reasoning that was much more familiar to a Medici than to the other princely dynasts and condottieri of his time. Having Lorenzo’s interest in “security” in mind, more important for our purposes is to have a close look at the form and way of Lorenzo’s reasoning. Let’s take just one rather random passage out of his huge correspondence: Necessarily one of the following two things has to be true: either you have not been told the truth or something disturbing has emerged, and I want rather to believe the second because I cannot believe that so many citizens and the doge – who spoke with you as you have written to me – would have agreed among them to tell you lies. And considering what disturbance might have happened, I think it could be the decision of the duke of Milan. I have introduced him for two reasons: First, it seemed to me that if that signoria assured itself of the duke of Milan by that means, it could remain safe [sc. from threats] from all directions; second, because, if you remember well, you have written to me that with or without the duke [sc. the negotiation] will find its conclusion. And if that is the case, do not doubt that it would have pleased us to do it in that way for two reasons: first, because, as we have said to you, we are well served by the duke; second, because it seems to me that if we go together anyway with that signoria, we will give reason to bind the king and the duke together, which will be better than to have them divided. And it seems to me that as that signoria is in alliance with the king to defend the states, if that second alliance is made, the effect will be to have a general alliance (lega generale) because it will find itself bound together with all the other powers of Italy. Furthermore it will enhance the security because either the king will respect that alliance with them, or not; if he respects it, the above-mentioned effect concerning that signoria will follow, a liga universale; if he does not respect it, it would not be good to have given so much attention to it (Lorenzo de’ Medici to Giovanni Lanfredini, August 20th, 1474, Lorenzo de’ Medici 1978-2011, Lettere Nr. 175 – I have underlined the textual markers of the possibility of narratives). This is a passage from a letter by Lorenzo concerning a very precise moment in diplomatic history: the general alliance between all the important states of Italy after the peace of Lodi (1454) was, after its last affirmation in 1470, not renew- able in 1473/74. In that situation, Venice, which was in a loose alliance with the King of Naples, and which was in doubt of the aims of the duke of Milan, made efforts to approach Florence for an alliance; the duke of Milan had made also an offer of alliance to Venice, but Venice insisted on respecting its alliances with the duke of Burgundy and France, the latter being unacceptable for the duke of Milan’s honor; Lorenzo started secret negotiations with Venice with the help of the director of his bank there, Giovanni d’Orsino Lanfredini. The duke of Milan remained jealous concerning the relationships between Naples, Lorenzo and Venice and made a new proposal to Venice which led to the interruption of the planned conclusion of the treaty between Florence and Venice. Our letter is situated just at the moment when Lorenzo received the news of that interruption. This special political situation in itself is not of interest for our purposes here, but let us have a close look at the form of the narrative of Lorenzo’s letter: Obviously there are many unknowns in the political field

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 77 observed by Lorenzo as well as by his servant in Venice; they do not know many things exactly – concerning the past: why the interruption of negotiations really happened, if their counterparts in Venice were speaking the truth or not; and certainly not concerning the future: how this person or that will act and react. So, his letter is a sequence of reasoning and speculations about possible pasts and about possible futures. The language is shaped by the basic structural elements typical for all those who had been trained in the humanist or scholas- tic schools of syllogistic reasoning where the mind always has to decide at forks in the road in the mode of “bifurcations”, as in the Arbor Porphyriana (is the substance corporeal or incorporeal? If corporeal, is it living or not? If it is a living thing, is it sensitive or not? If it is a living, sensitive thing, is it rational or irrational? If it is a living, sensitive and rational thing, it is a man; if it is a man, it is Sortes or Plato?). While this is a propaideutic way of reasoning apt for classifications, the divisive mode of reasoning became an important structural pattern of Florentine political language: one had to bring some order into the situation analyzed, one had to separate important elements from unimportant, one had to classify types of situations, types of actions, types of men as a basis from which one could find the right decision, to choose, if possible, the correct possible future, and not the wrong one. We find this everyday political language here in the letters of Lorenzo, but we also find it, in a more sophisti- cated and more extensively reflected way as a condensate in Machiavelli’s work and in that of other political writers (cf. Chabod 1925/1964, 369-88; Pincin 1971; Marchand 1975; Larivaille 1982, 89-95; Zwierlein 2006, 70-98). Lorenzo’s letters, when they are, as in this case, “discorsi” which prepare a decision or advise about decision-making (in Florence, or in Milan), are complex narratives which are fed by the current news from all parts of Italy, which try to reconstruct what has truly happened even if in a given moment certain things always remain unclear: systematically, time sociologists and philosophers tend always to think only of the future as being “open” and as a field of many possibilities, while the past has happened, so, while there is a choice of all possible futures, when the present has taken place, there is only one past. That is true from an objective perspective. But from the subjective perspective of a decision-maker like Lorenzo, it is often not clear exactly which past has happened; so, in a given moment, he is not projecting from a safe point of departure into the choice of one wanted future, but the ground from which he departs is itself slippery and porous (Bullard 1996, 271): it still consists, due to his restricted knowledge, of a pool of possible pasts which could have led to the same outlook that he can see – but to know which of those possible pasts had indeed happened would be important for the subsequent task of rationally projecting.9 So, Lorenzo first clears the slippery and porous ground by rational-

9 Similar, Bullard (1996, 267): “These diplomatic letters give ample evidence of the extent to which Lorenzo de’ Medici and his agents were sensitive to the reality of contingency and to

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 78 ly arguing which of the possible pasts would be more probable, then he goes on to argue which of the possible futures would be the most desirable – also paying attention, by the way, to the functional equivalence, that two different actions (in a possible past or a possible future) can have the same outcome (“ef- fecto”). The addiction to the “news” (“avvisi”) is visible in nearly all of Lorenzo’s letters. If he is asked for advice by his partners, his greatest concern is whether his information is good enough (if the past ground is not too slippery and porous): So, because this Lordship wants to hear our judgements, you know that it is very difficult to counsel in great affairs when one does not yet have the right terms and one is understanding day by day the process and the whole of the affair. This here is in itself a very important and new thing [...] the avisi show two things: one, that the duke of Burgundy and the king of France are not very unified; the other, that there is some trust and friendship between the duke of Burgundy and this lordship – and each of those two conditions would take away all of the danger [...] (Lorenzo de’ Medici to Jacopo Guicciardini, May 4th, 1476, Lorenzo de’ Medici 1978-2011, Lettere Nr. 219 – I have underlined the passages showing the fixation on “news”). Here we really have to imagine Lorenzo in front of a multitude of letters, anonymously written “copie” and “lettere d’avvisi”, fed also with some oral information from several parts of the city and the country, always laboring to reconstruct the correct “present state of affairs” (so: the recent past) and then to find the right advice for himself and for others. Often the advice may be to “mark time” (temporeggiare): if the present situation is bad, it is better not to make important decisions at all: [...] I say that to give answer to the adviso that you have given me with your letter of the 16th concerning the demand of the king of Hungary to get into cognation and alliance with the Pope with the final aim of Empire. What will happen concerning me is that the Pope will beware of taking sides in order not to provoke the other as enemy and not to create any great inconvenience. And if there is no great necessity to choose one side, I think that the Pope’s needs are to stay neutral and to keep each of them in hope and to delay as much as possible every decision, given that time will show counsel better; because if Maximilian lost reputation or the affairs came to a head in some form by themselves, one could adapt more securely to the times; and if he maintained himself, it would be too dangerous to have him as an enemy [then, Lorenzo reasons about the interdependencies of these affairs with Venice, England, the Pope] (Lorenzo de’ Medici to Giovanni Lanfredini, Nov. 24th, 1487, Lorenzo de’ Medici 1978-2011, Lettere, Nr. 1107; I have underlined the passages which show the formula of “adapting politics to time” and “delaying”).

the difficulties of making political judgements based on what people said.” – One may ask why “reality of contingency” and not “contingency of reality”?

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 79 Unfortunately no in-depth research yet exists about the lucky formula of “temporeggiare” and its important conceptual presuppositions with respect to the relationship of time and politics – but it was in current use in Renaissance Italian political language and is afterwards to be found also in other Romance languages and other European regions.10 It shows the possibility of a kind of meta-reflexive access to the problems of past reconstruction and future- building: one tries to delay the necessity of a difficult future happening at all. Sometimes, the diligent and prudent gatherer and interpreter of news is sur- prised and even shocked: [Lorenzo is alarmed] You write to me in your last one [sc. letter] of the intention and the goals of the Pope in a very different manner than you used to before, because you have always made me understand that one could always make a picture [fare ogni disegno] of the Pope in such a way that affairs would not alter the tranquility of his state and would not put him in danger or cause him expense. Now you do surprise me with the obstinacy that he shows in not fearing or estimating the king [of Naples] and I do not know how to make a [sc. good] construction [né so trarre constructo] of what reason moves him and what goals he has set. I imagine [Sto in qualche fantasia] that this reason/fundament lies not only in the French affairs, but that there is some other more important secret in it, because the French affairs are also long and dangerous, and if one wanted to face them one would have to risk the state as well as money [...]. (Lorenzo de’ Medici to Giovanni Lanfredini, Oct 17th, 1489, Lettere Nr. 1557; I have underlined the passages which show Lorenzo’s operating in reality construction and future speculation). The Italian wording “how to draw a construction” from the given news is too beautiful not to be translated rather literally: We see Lorenzo here not only sorting, arranging and handling current actions and situations, but also having something like a repertoire of the players in the game, counting on certain character traits and using all that to make his “disegno” and his “constructo” of the entire reality on which one should count. Still, there are sudden changes in the normally expected behavior of some important actors – they “change their nature” as Machiavelli would write a quarter of a century later – and it is hard to “read” their hidden intentions; there are hidden secrets, things that Lorenzo is not able to know; and that stimulates his “fantasia”. So, at this point we are able to combine the observations made: Concern for one’s own and others’ security as well as oral conspiracy theories may have existed in every human group or society since the advent of homo sapiens and since there was competition about resources. Likely, “planning” is an anthropological human behavior. But on the other hand, we find here, in Renaissance

10 Cf. the same remark with Bullard (1996, 269) – Le Person (2000) has analyzed well the micro politics of simulating being ill and “temporizing” in this way to avoid having to make a final decision (between loyalty or not to Henry III and Henry of Navarre), but he does not really touch on the conceptual dimension of “temporiser”.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 80 political communication, something quite special and historically new at that time if we compare it to the situation some 50 or 100 years before: only in the emerging diplomatic system of steady inter-territorial communication are “projects”, “plans”, situation analyses and speculations about possible pasts and possible futures like those shown here regularly written down; it is the “scripturalization” of all this which is changing things, the media and form have their impact on the content and way of perceiving the world. So even if there are anthropological dispositions for all this, it is also correct to stress the quite recent history of an “age of projects” (which according to Graber 2011 starts in the Enlightenment, but we would point to the Renaissance antecedents; we may also remember the classical contribution of Koselleck 1995). The argument is that only in a media and communicative context such as the Renaissance did the reflexivity and explication of speculations in possibilities become so routine that elaborated written conspiracy theories could find their readers and would have their function in that communication context. However, it seems that this started a bit later still, because we are not aware of a wide circulation of conspiracy theories, even in the months and year of the famous congiura de’ Pazzi (1478).11 The fear of conspiracies was certainly great, but the term congiura referred almost exclusively to internal affairs. The fear of hidden alliances and “pratiche” on the inter-territorial scene was always present, but reasoning remained on the level of a steady fabrication of possible past and future narratives for the purpose of one’s own orientation and planning; Lorenzo did not divulge and propagate his interpretations and present and future constructions outside the inner sphere of policy making. So, his speculations about the correct reconstruction of the past do contain unproven elements, but very consciously and prudently, and the whole has no appellative-affective or denunciatory function containing consciously propagated, not-proven elements that would serve to stabilize the convictions of a given community of values and to counteract the influence of another. But we see how close the narrative mode of Lorenzo’s normal political past and future analysis and a “conspiracy theory” are: it is not easy to find a clear-cut distinction. One important element seems to be the emergence of a certain prototype of an anonymous public sphere: only if persuasive (re)constructions of the past and the future can circulate there independently from the inner and smaller context of political decision- preparing and decision-making can they have the embarrassing status that classical conspiracy theories have. This type of communication seems not to have evolved strongly until the age of the wars of religion.

11 Cf. Fubini 1992; the text De coniuratione commentarium by Poliziano is in the classical tradition (e.g. Sallust: De coniuratione Catilinarum) and is an ex-post conspiracy narrative (Págan 2004) but not a speculative ex-ante conspiracy theory (Roisman 2006).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 81 4. Royal coup d’états and Confessional Conspiracy Theories, 1560s/1570s

The structural preconditions of “training” the senders and receivers of the political communication of letters, dispatches, instructions, discorsi, avvisi in the modus of narrating and constructing the possible past and future remained roughly the same after the 15th century, but the dimensions became European (and later global), and some discursive features entered the political arena which had not been present or important before that time in the Italian context, mainly the confessional schism and the changes of political discourse which followed. The establishment of steady diplomatic representations between the European territories was a process which took a long time and was much more complex than in the early 15th-century Italian case due to the huge differences between them. In North-Alpine Europe, the communication shock of the Reformation during the pamphlet war of 1517-1525 happened even earlier and had much more impact at first sight than the “silent” implementation of the ambassadorial system which is to be found only at the very end of the 16th century in Germany, for instance (Kleinpaul 1930; Kohler 2008). But before, since the late 15th century and mainly during the 1530s to 1550s, we can observe the emergence of a rather different “public sphere” in Italy which only later merged with the North-Alpine realities: as I have argued, some technical decisions concerning the precise form of news communication (division between rather secret or specialized ambassadorial letters and simple newsletters) led not only to the production of different sorts of media, but also permitted the crystallization of a new social function and the outsourcing of news-writing: in Venice and Rome, between the 1530s and the 1550s, former secretaries, agents and courtiers acted as avvisi and newsletter writers and copyists. An anonymously working system of political news observation was installed; princes, courtiers and other politicians could now observe themselves as figures on the “news sky”, which was refreshed steadily and normally in a weekly rhythm following the postal relais system. This public sphere of political news was also transferred to the whole of Europe afterwards and was enriched there in the late 16th and during the 17th century by the print media support, creating the printed newspaper (cf. Senatore 1998; Zwierlein 2006, 208-72, 557-610 and Dooley 1999; Dooley 2010; De Vivo 2007, 57; Landi 2006 for different approaches which all contribute to the big picture). Now, confessional minorities in Europe such as the Reformed (Huguenots and German Reformed) could use the public sphere (Zwierlein 2012b) to circulate anonymous possible past and future narratives which were no longer embedded in the current political communication of decision-preparing and decision-making, but which worked with the same news data as politicians in the princely chanceries. And now we find conspiracy theories communicated

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 82 which refer to the international state system and the politico-religious competition within and between the states of that system.12 A good example is a handwritten conspiracy theory from spring 1567 which circulated in Europe, especially in German Protestant courts, and which was related to the French and Dutch wars of religion (Zwierlein 2006; Zwierlein 2012c): Since a two-week meeting in 1565 at Bayonne between the young king Charles IX, the king’s mother Catherine de Médicis on the French side and the duke of Alba and the Spanish queen Elisabeth (of Valois), the Protestants feared a great master-plan of Catholic European powers to finally put an end to Protestantism and to re-conquer Europe for Catholicism. We do not know anything certain about such a plan and it almost surely did not exist as such, the interests and competition between the different Catholic powers always being too great to permit the formation of a big alliance. But Protestant authors did analyze incoming news from 1565 onwards to 1567 and formed a ‘story’ from it in the sense of a possible past narrative which, in itself, comprehended a future to be materialized: the text claimed to be an extract of an alliance concluded between the Catholic powers.13 It was set down in 17 articles: the general plan of the Catholic forces headed by the Pope would be to: 1) Exchange all Protestant princes for Catholic ones and to go to war against the Ottomans afterwards; 2) The emperor would be transformed into a hereditary monarchy and the Protestant princes and electors would be replaced by Habsburg ones; 4) All dominions of princes that had not joined the alliance would be seques- tered and transferred to the emperor; 5) The Pope would institute a patriarch in Germany; 6) The war against Protestantism would be paid for by the church; after the war, new Catholic priests would be installed; 9) The King of Spain would put all his power into the alliance, his daughter would marry the French king and would gain Calais in return; 10) The king of Scotland would be re-enthroned; Queen Elisabeth would be hunted out of England; 11) The son of the Spanish king would be married to the daughter of the emperor; 12) The duke of Bavaria would become the great proconsul/governor of the Pope and Lieutenant General of all the bishops and prelates;

12 It has to be noted that the only recent treatments of the ‘conspiracy‘ problem for the Western Wars of religion (Carroll 2004; Roberts 2004) are searching rather for ‘real conspiracies‘ in the medieval conjuration tradition than for conspiracy narratives. 13 “Auszug Kurtzer Articul von dem verborgnen verpundtnus zwischen dem Pabst, Kaiser, Khönig aus Hispanie, Khonig aus Franckhreich dem Hertzogen von Saphoy vnnd andern jren pündtnus verwanndten zu welchem pündtnus man den Krieg aus Frannckhreych anziechen will.” (Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, Codex palatinus germanicus 171, f. 232r-33r).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 83 13) The duke of Guise would marry the daughter of the duke of Bavaria; if the duke of Florence did not enter the alliance, he would be hunted out of his duchy; 14) The duchy of Milan and the island of Corsica would be given to the king of France; 15) If Venice did not enter the alliance, war would be declared on the republic and the territory would be divided; 16) The duke of Ferrara would come to France to ratify the articles; 17) The authors of the alliance were the cardinals of Lorraine and Granvelle. The text itself (which we have not translated here literally due to lack of space) shows in many little details that the anonymous author had very good knowledge of the movements of this duke and that daughter of a prince of that court etc. for the whole of Europe: it is a text which could only be fabricated with access to the news data that the weekly avvisi and Zeytungs communication furnished, perhaps complemented by other sources and direct access to some dispatches, other letters etc. On the bottom of the last page is written: “Gott kan es woll wennden | dann es stett alls in seinen henden”: God can change all that because everything is in his hands – the anonymous writer is not clearly judging the alliance and its future plan negatively; a certain ‘pro- Protestant flavor’ was certainly detected by all contemporaries, but the text does not use clear propaganda rhetoric (for example, the Pope is not denunciat- ed as Antichrist; no other clear anti-Catholic invectives are to be read). This text circulated all over Europe, and many dukes and the emperor were upset about the content; the French king even sent special ambassadors to the German courts to disprove any authorship of that plan and the existence of any such alliance. But the text only had such a great impact because it seemed to be quite plausible to a large extent: one could think at least that others might think that this alliance had really been made and that this future was planned by Catholic powers. The fitting and adaptation of that plan to the present state of affairs as it was made it possible. But still, the mere multitude of points and relationships made this ‘secret alliance’ both very dangerous, and a little bit ‘too big’; one had to believe in an extremely efficient coordination of all interests and wills from Scotland to Spain, France, the Netherlands, the Reich, Italy. The term ‘security’ is not used in the text, but from the perspective of the Protestants receiving and discussing it, it was clearly a great threat – to the security of the worldly state system as well as to the safety of so many Protestant souls in their belief. If we take a second example from the years 1572/74 we can see how the famous massacre of St. Bartholomew’s day led to a whole series of conspiracy theories both printed and handwritten, distributed and circulating all over Eu- rope (the literature is immense, cf. Erlanger 1960; Crouzet 1994; Jouanna 2007; Mellet 2006; Kingdon 1988; Smither 1989, 190-233). One of the most astonishing cases, which in our context is also systematically the most interest-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 84 ing, is the first printed news pamphlet about the massacre in Europe at all, which was published not in France, but on September 18th in Rome in a first version, only 10 days after the news had arrived at the center of Catholicism at all (Capilupi 1572). The author, Camillo Capilupi, was a client and agent in Rome of Carlo di Gonzaga-Nervers, one of the most important princes in France directly implied in the decision-making (if we may believe most of the accounts) and the execution of the massacre. Capilupi was at the same time a secret chamberlain of the Pope and had access to incoming messages and letters such as, for example, the dispatches of the nuncio in France. So, we have every reason to take his text seriously at first, even if a thorough investigation of it – and at best a critical edition also taking the manuscript version into account – has yet to be done. Capilupi’s text had been one of the central proofs for the ‘premeditation’ thesis (Romier 1913; Jacquiot 1977) discussed since the 16th century and taken up again by 20th century historiography:14 the king (and the queen mother, possibly together with an inner circle of insiders) would have planned a great massacre of the Huguenots at least since 1567 – so, something like the prolongation of the earlier conspiracy theory exposed above. Capilupi uses the word ‘stratagema’ to entitle his work, using the ancient Ro- man term of the ‘science of war’: while the treatise Strategemata by Sextus Julius Frontinus (30-104 AD) was a collection of artifices of war, Capilupi transferred that technical term from the realm of military and war to the realm of politics. That could also mean that the moral neutrality of ‘stratagems’, which had been allowed since antiquity in the realm of war, was transferred to politics, where in classical treatises on virtues all that (lying, simulation) was forbidden. His treatise would then show what efficient artifices the king had used by simulating and dissimulating in a three- and fourfold manner. Charles IX and the queen mother had managed to poison Jeanne de Navarre, to lull and caress Coligny, to get from him lists with the names of all the important heads of the Calvinists under the pretext of the marriage to concentrate all the Calvin- ists in Paris in one district where they could be stabbed efficiently in a centrally organized action. All that was never morally condemned by Capilupi in the text; rather – because it was executed by the most Christian kings against the heretics – it was a proof of the highest mastery of statecraft, of “astuzia” and “prudenza”. Capilupi’s text uses letters from Italian and French agents coming from France to Rome, uses avvisi and other “first hand” sources; he puts them in order and adds the overarching causality and agency of the king as the one who plotted everything in detail. Research today (like many contemporary voices) often characterizes Charles IX as a rather weak ruler dominated by the queen mother, the Guise and others; in Capilupi’s text he becomes something

14 For a summary cf. Anglo (2005, 254-66) – but the account of the publishing context contains some serious errors: the text was printed twice in two different versions; Anglo knows only the second one of 1574.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 85 like a demi-god playing chess with the Huguenots. The stratagema is a brilliantly constructed possible past narrative. It formed, together with some other rare examples like Arnaud Sorbin’s Le vray Resveille-matin and sixty years later Gabriel Naudé’s Coups d’état, the core of the small but important tradition of rigorous counter-reformation political theory which condoned a massacre like this as ultima ratio of royal authoritarian politics (Crouzet 1999, 2002; Zwierlein 2011a, 110-13). But is it a conspiracy theory? Originally in the Roman context of the first imprint it was not conceived and should not have been perceived like that; it was just a treatise in honor of the prudence of the king, addressed to the Roman semi-public sphere of the curia; the text also had the function of propagating how France was now reentering into the concert of strong Catholic powers, given that the king had resolved (or at least seemed to have resolved) the Hu- guenot problem. The text was given to the public by Capilupi himself firstly only in manuscript copies, of which over 300 quickly circulated in Rome; then it was given to the (papal!) printer not by Capilupi himself but by clientele of the Este, a family with many close parental ties to the ‘right-wing’ Catholic noble families in France, the Guise and Lorraine. At that point it seems that the text transgressed a certain invisible barrier of prudency, and the cardinal of Lorraine, who was present at the papal court at that time, managed to ensure that nearly all copies of the printed version were collected and destroyed. The reason for his action was apparently that the representative of the crown judged it inconvenient for the king to have that image as a ‘stratagematic’ Huguenot executor, at least not in print, where its diffusion was not easy to control: King Charles did indeed propagate many different pictures of the massacre and his role in it through the channels of diplomacy. To the Catholic powers he sent his messages of pride and gratefulness to God, to the Protestant powers he sent messages of dissimulation concerning his role in the preparation of the event. So, the cardinal in Rome seems to have felt that a print of Capilupi’s text – which in itself might fit well into the Roman Catholic context – was dangerous, especially in the context of the aspired election of Henri d’Anjou to the throne of Poland, who was named in the text as one of the most important actors in the massacre, which could have caused serious trouble with the Protestant estates of Poland. And he was correct, because Capilupi’s text – a copy of the manuscript version which the author had extended since then – found its way to Geneva, was translated into French and framed by pro-Protestant paratexts: There, the event was now coined a “trop vrayement tragicque Tragedie”; a clear judgement is inscribed into the text. The anonymous Genevan editor tells the reader about the fact of the cardinal’s interdiction of the printing in Rome; then he clarifies why he chose to edit the text: “Concerning the truth of history, has there been a place on earth where the greatest secrets of that tragedy have been known better than in Rome, in and for which one can say everything has been undertaken and executed?” (Capilupi 1574, 5). The editor also states that

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 86 “divine providence has shown itself more than admirable because it has chosen such an irrefutable testimony of such a deed out of the midst of those who have tried since then to conceal it by all means” (ibid., 6). After that, he denies the one – in his judgement – false element of his text, the supposed “conjuration” of Coligny against the king, and finally he dismiss- es the reader with the words: “so, please receive, gentle reader, the true description of that lamentable tragedy and please know by this what Satan can do when he is using his instruments at demand” (ibid., 13). In a further paratext (“L’Argument, ou Sommaire de tout ce Discours”), the editor states that “finally he shows by many reasons that those murders had been planned and undertaken a long time ago [que ces meurtres avoyent esté premeditez & entreprins long temps au paravant]” (ibid., 16). There follows a very faithful translation of the Italian manuscript without any further changes or editor’s remarks. Just by adding these paratexts, by printing it in the center of Reformed Protestant- ism, Geneva, and by addressing as such a completely different audience – the European Protestant world and others who were at least undecided concerning the judgement of that brutal massacre – the text transformed into a refined conspiracy theory: now it served as a past narrative whose possibility and probability was reinforced very much by the fact that it was an enemy who spoke, and which served to stabilize the identity and values of a given group, the Hu- guenots and their supporters (Jouanna 2007, 13-5). It is indeed a rare fact in history that we have such an accurately constructed story about the one planning instance and agent of causality, the king together with only very few other counselors, which was not meant as a conspiracy theory but as a historical account reconstructed as precisely as possible, and which then changed into a conspiracy theory – simply due to its use in the new context of Huguenot propaganda: the most important paragraphs concerning the premeditation thesis were quickly included by Simon Goulart in his Mé- moires of the reign of Charles IX, a clearly Calvinist collection of documents and commented from the Genevan point of view (Kingdon 1988, 45). It was thus included in the bulk of 1572 to 1575 pamphlets such as the heroic and anti-heroic biographies of Charles (Gasparis Colinii Castellonii...vita by François Hotman) and of Catherine de Médicis (Discours merveilleux de la vie, actions et déportemens de Catherine de Médicis, by Henri Estienne), the monarchomach treatises, the De furoribus gallicis and the Resveille-matin and many other small and longer post-St. Barthelemew pamphlets (Kingdon 1988; Mellet 2006; Jouanna 2007, 231-81): in this context, the narration became a truth revealed by God himself through the voice of a very good insider, a Ro- man papal courtier, a servant of the Antichrist. It was now something to be believed; it no longer belonged to the discourse of empirical speculation of what had possibly happened due to cunning and masterful royal planning. If we look at the scene of international politics at that time, pamphlets and texts like that were part of a strong emotional discourse which triggered in

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 87 Protestant lands the fear and anxiety that a big Catholic enterprise might subvert the order of the whole continent. Particularly those territories and states which were near to the French border, such as South-Western Germany, thought of the massacre as a real threat: inter-territorial alliances were re- founded, the Reichskreise (the Empire’s executive circles) started to levy soldiers, many diplomatic missions were sent and received concerning the question of how to react to the massacre (Sutherland 1973; Zwierlein 2006, 724- 50): it was judged a threat to the “security” of the international system as it existed at that time. Confessionalist conspiracy theories tried to specify and to explain that threat to common “international” and confessional security.

5. Conclusion

If we compare that situation to 50 or 100 years earlier during the first emergence of a system of state situation in quattrocento Italy, it seems that the circulation in manuscript and print of fully developed conspiracy theories in the sense of lengthy texts and carefully elaborated possible past, present and future narratives with an explanatory overdose beyond “proven” reality is a later development going hand in hand with the differentiation between an early public sphere and the more hidden forms of political communication after 1500. But we can see in Lorenzo’s statecraft that the special scripturalization impulse and the stimulus of the system of steady diplomatic communication characteristic for Renaissance politics and later transferred to the rest of Europe had its impact on the narrative form that was used by politicians: they now represented reality by empirical investigation into the possible pasts with respect to incoming information and they speculated about possible futures in the same narrative modus. That was the necessary precondition for the emergence of that later form of early modern conspiracy theory as a special form of past and present possible and explanatory narratives. The shift in the overall development takes place here at the same time that “security” is displacing or increasingly complementing “peace” as the overarching important aim of politics. Thus, both phenomena belong to the frames of reference of early modern statecraft, state-building and inter-statal communication since the Renaissance. At the most general level, this specific investigation into the epochal time shift of the Renaissance serves as a demonstration of the paths to be taken if one aims at a serious historicization of “security and conspiracy”: first, really historicizable definitions have to be formed, as was tried here for “conspiracy theory”, while “security” is a too general a term to be defined in the same manner – but here, the history of the notion and concept should be taken into account. Systematically speaking, we have tried in this contribution:

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 88 a) to distinguish between the elements “emerging state system”, “state building”, “inter-statal security”, media development and forms of political communication, “conspiracy narrative and theory”, to detect the interdependency between them and to find a good means of historicization; b) to state an causal impact of the new forms of steady inter-statal political scriptural communication on the world perception of its producers and receivers; c) to detect that impact in the way that “the present reality” (and successively also “the past” and “the future”) were represented in the narratives that formed the material of everyday political business: political actors, their behavior and their intentions and actions were constantly “written down”, followed up in constant refreshments of the current state of affairs; gaps of knowledge had to be bridged by rational reasoning and speculation, and the fluid borderline between factuality and fiction and/or metaphysical levels were drawn along the borders of that form of communication; d) to suggest that it was only due to that new manner of reality representation that: - the perception of the interdependencies of a system of states and actors, also in a rather spatial dimension, was “trained” and the longing for security in that whole spatial arrangement (rather than peace between two or three actors) was stimulated; - the narrating of possible pasts and – during political planning and projects – of possible futures and of imaginings and speculations upon probable causal links between actions and intentions of actors was trained; these are the preconditions not only for the modern form of political planning, but also for the structural patterns of the modern conspiracy theory, of which we gave a detailed and historicizible definition in the first paragraph; e) to suggest further that due to the unfolding of a public sphere different from internal political communication, the last important precondition for the opposition of “security” and “conspiracy (theory)” in an inter-statal system emerged: now the publication of a possible past narrative – similar to those formed every day at court and in the princes’ chanceries to reconstruct possible pasts and futures from incoming information flow – that explained a recent action with a certain tendency could have a strong appellative and denunciation force with respect to a given community of values. In this way, as a distinct pattern of political communication, a conspiracy theory could itself become an (anonymous) agency strengthening fears in this or that direction, triggering certain decisions and actions of actors who tried to produce security in the state system. It seems that this constellation developed for the first time from the 15th to the 16th century between Italy and the rest of Europe, foremost during the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 89 confessional conflicts of that time – but the structural patterns seem to be comparable from that time on throughout all modern times up until today.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 95 Security and Cross-Border Political Crime: The Formation of Transnational Security Regimes in 18th and 19th Century Europe

∗ Karl Härter

Abstract: »Sicherheit und grenzübergreifende politische Kriminalität: Die For- mierung transnationaler Sicherheitsregime in Europa im 18. und 19. Jahrhun- dert«. This contribution proposes to observe Foucault’s concept of the security dispositive from the angle of transnational security and criminal law regimes. Since the late 18th century security and securitization became not only a prime category and field of national policies and discourses but were increasingly influenced by transnational issues and cross-border security threats (or narratives) such as international crime, transnational political violence and international conspiracies. This was accompanied by the formation of transnational security regimes, which concerned cross-border security policies, discourses and legal norms in the fields of extradition, political asylum, and police cooperation, with a variety of different actors: states, police organizations, experts, international organizations. These transnational security regimes and their respective fields were characterized by complex interdependencies and interactions as well as by legal pluralism, flexibility, fragmentation, collisions, and Entrechtlichung, transgressing national security and extending securitization to indefinite “global” security spaces. Though this could be interpreted as an “international security dispositive” it as well challenges Foucault’s concept which, in the end, should be substituted by the historical model of “transnational security regimes”. Keywords: security, political crime, international crime, criminal law, transnational law, police co-operation, extradition, political asylum.

The following remarks only intend to add a more or less new perspective to further develop the research on the history of security and Foucault’s model of the security dispositive. They are conceived as a contribution to the ongoing discussion on security. In the course of 1977-78 Foucault failed – empirically as well as theoretical- ly – to conceptualize security and abandoned security in favour of governmentality (Foucault 2004; Bigo 2008). However, he indicated several elements and

∗ Karl Härter, Max-Planck-Institut für europäische Rechtsgeschichte, Hausener Weg 120, 60489 Frankfurt am Main, Germany; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 96-106 Ň© GESIS references which are crucial to understand the development of security from the early modern period to modernity: - space, territory, borders/frontiers and sovereignty; - the complex relations between security, discipline, surveillance, and governmentality; - the dispositive of security (or security dispositive). These elements and relations are especially useful to understand the establishment of “international security” in the 18th and 19th century as: - a specific security discourse based on the narrative of international/cross- border crime/threats, and - a specific transnational security policy. This paper suggests observing the development of “international security” as a function (or result) of the formation of transnational security regimes in the 18th and 19th century, which emerged in specific areas of transnational interaction – extradition, asylum, judicial and police co-operation – and were shaped in international treaties, national law, international expert discourses and various state practices (Härter 2011a). With Foucault we may also characterize this development as the establishment of a transnational security dispositive which comprises the normative, material, personnel, and practical infrastructure of the production of discourses as well as the implementation of its “outcome” / “solutions” within a specific area of practice through specific concepts (purposes, strategic configurations), law/norms, institutions, technologies, provisions, sanctions, procedures etc. In addition, security can be conceptualized as a product of communication, discourses and practices (on a symbolic as well as a practical level) manifested in the formation of a specific security dispositive or regime; their historical development and differentiation can be described (very roughly) along the following patterns and shifts (Härter 2010): - in the early modern period (since Hobbes) the fundamental distinction between internal and external security was established; the latter addresses such fields and discourses as war, peace, military etc. and formed its own security dispositive or regime (which will not be dealt with in the following); - internal security comprised social security (welfare) as well as public security (öffentliche Sicherheit), manifested in the idea of the “good order and government” (gute Policey, which we may characterize as the early modern form of governmentality); - however, during the 18th century we can observe the fundamental separation of welfare (or social security) from public security; the latter formed the basis for the modern notion of internal security (öffentliche Sicherheit); - the dispositive or regime of public/internal security was based on territory and sovereignty, focused on property, trade and commerce, threatened by crime and marginal/dangerous groups, the latter comprising also an external,

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 97 cross-border element. In the 18th century foreign vagrants, bandits and gangs endangering internal security from the “outside” (of society or abroad) were perceived and conceptualized as a prime security threat leading to the establishment of several internal security measures (patrolling, passport control, border control, paramilitary police forces etc.) and the first transnational security measures: extradition and extradition treaties, respectively, concluded between France and the Swabian and Franconian Circles of the Holy Roman Empire in 1731 and 1741 concerning state crimes, de- serters and vagrants/bandits (Härter 2011b). Though these roughly depicted patterns and shifts do not indicate a linear historical development of a “modernization process” of security, at the end of the Ancien régime the dispositive of internal security was firmly established and implemented: the maintenance of security was regarded as a prime task of the (modern, national) state, which – based on sovereignty and the monopoly of power – had established corresponding security institutions, techniques, norms (laws) and practices, all together forming a (national) security policy. The security dispositive and regimes focused on the security of the state and the nation, including the majority of citizens and their private property and excluding marginal groups and foreigners. (Internal) security was produced and communicated by means of “national securitization”: national laws (codes), criminal justice, police forces etc. aiming at prevention and the exclusion, normalization, and suppression of internal threats (crime, marginal groups etc.). However, with the foreign bandits/gangs, the establishment of border control and early extradition treaties, some elements of transnational security regimes and the dispositive of international security were already established in an early form. Research dealing with the development of internal/public security in the 18th and 19th century focused mainly on the development of national security. However, with regard to space and territory and the scope of the security discourses we can observe new developments, already commencing in the 18th century, burgeoning in the 19th century and dominating in the 20th century: the international security dispositive, manifested in the formation of transnational security regimes, which concerns cross-border security policies, discourses and legal norms in the fields of extradition, political asylum, and police cooperation, characterized by a variety of different actors – states, police organizations, experts, international organizations – and related to international crime and political crimes in particular as the main transnational security threats (Ingraham 1979; Härter and De Graaf 2012c). The formation of transnational security regimes took place in the 18th and 19th century, but was characterized by ambiguous developments: First of all the transition from the ius commune, which as a global legal order had provided transnational criminal justice via principles and measures such as compensato- ry prosecution/justice (stellvertretende Strafrechtspflege), the principle of aut

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 98 dedere aut judiciare (legal obligation to extradite or to prosecute crimes), re- quisition (Requisitionswesen), and immediate pursuit (Nacheile), to nation- based criminal law systems with a monopoly of penal power (Maierhöfer 2006; Härter 2009). The nationalization process put criminal law and security at the core of national sovereignty, formed a homogeneous national legal space, and established new principles (notably the nationality and territoriality principle), but generated transnational security problems as well. These shifts and changes culminated in the age of the French Revolution and Napoleon, which in the end changed not only the criminal law system but the security dispositive and the narratives of international/political crime and conspiracy as well, though some early modern elements still persisted or were transformed. The major changes and developments concern: 1) The impact of the French Revolution as a transnational (security) threat spreading revolution and subversion across the borders through ideas, news, press, propaganda, emissaries, secret associations/societies, conspiracies and the expansion révolutionnaire. This promoted the establishment of the new transnational security and conspiracy dispositive: the threat of international revolution, transnational political subversion and transnational political crime (Härter 2008). 2) In addition the French Revolution caused the first wave of political mass emigration/expulsion (the French émigrés), which led to the establishment of an organized political exile. In the 19th century political refugees and organized political exile formed (or were perceived as such) an important threat to internal as well as transnational security via activities such as forming exile armies, exile press/propaganda, propagating political violence, planning assassinations, interventions and insurrections (Reiter 1992). 3) This resulted in a new perception and legal conceptualization of political crime as a fundamental – and partially transnational – threat to the nation, the state and internal as well as transnational security, reflected notably in the French code pénal of 1810 which was adopted by many other states (In- graham 1979). 4) Since the French Revolution and the code pénal, the formation of a homogeneous national criminal law was based on the territoriality and nationality principle: abolition of foreign laws and the ius commune, containment against prosecution from the outside, no extradition of nationals, no prosecution/punishment of crimes that nationals committed in foreign states, no prosecution/punishment of crimes that foreigners had committed in foreign states, prosecution of crimes committed against nationals in foreign states and protection of nationals, prosecution of crimes committed by nationals against the nation in foreign states. These different principles/settings could also produce normative collision and as a result legal insecurity and correlated discourses.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 99 5) With regard to institutions and measures, we can observe the establishment of national police organizations and the political/secret police in particular dealing with state security and transnational security issues as well, because political crime, subversion, and political asylum/exile were considered, to a certain degree, as cross-border security threats which required cross-border policing – especially police co-operation and the exchange/transfer of knowledge and intelligence – and transnational provision such as extradition (Emsley 1997; 2007). 6) The establishment of modern external/interstate political asylum and its counterpart – the extradition of political dissidents, suspects and criminals – implied another “new” element of the emerging transnational criminal law and security regimes. On the one hand the competition between the nation- states influenced the policies of extradition and political asylum, which the states used to demonstrate their national sovereignty or to destabilize other states and as a result to produce insecurity. This, on the other hand, led to the expansion of extradition and extradition treaties which constrained political asylum to produce security on a transnational level (Shearer 1971; Reiter 1992). 7) Furthermore, in the 19th century the increase of cross-border activities such as economic transactions, commerce, migration (especially labour migration and journeymen), political activities and crime as well as technical advances (transportation, communication, railroads, telegraph etc.) evoked a growing demand for transnational criminal prosecution and co-operation and in the long run helped to form the image or dispositive of international crime (Knepper 2010). These shifts, demands or security threats strongly promoted the development and differentiation of extradition, asylum, judicial and police co-operation, and mutual legal assistance as the pivotal elements of the emerging transnational security and prosecution regimes. In this regard the model of transnational security regimes is strongly related to that of a transnational/international security dispositive and comprises as main elements: 1) First of all the normative level, ranging from national law to the soft law of transnational treaties and agreements, forming a fragmentary order of transnational criminal law based on norms and principles such as the active and passive personality principle, the principles of reciprocity and lenity, the obligation to extradite or to punish, the non-extradition of political refugees and nationals as well as the assassination and anarchist clauses (1856/1892). Many of these laws, treaties and norms refer to the issue of transnational security. The so-called Bundesbeschluß über Bestrafung von Vergehen gegen den Deutschen Bund und Auslieferung politischer Verbrecher (18. August 1836), which established a transnational normative order for the sovereign states of the German Confederation, named the maintenance of external as well as internal order and security as the main purpose of the determined ob-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 100 ligation to extradite, and considered treason (Hochverrat, Landesverrat) as well as associations and conspiracies (including membership, participation and incitement) as the main security threats against the Confederation or a single member state (Härter 2012a, 169). The extradition treaty between Austria and the Kingdom of Sardinia, concluded in 1838, stipulated the mutual extradition of criminals to maintain public security. In the second half of the 19th century many extradition treaties included or referred to the so- called Belgian attentat or assassination clause of 1856 which exempted refugees from the privilege of non-extradition and restricted the granting of political asylum if they had murdered or attempted an assassination upon the life of a ruler or his family (and later other state officials). From the end of the 19th century onward the clause was extended on the transnational level to all murderous/terrorist political crimes and criminals suspected to be members of cross-border operating “conspiracies” such as the anarchists (Härter 2012a; 2012b). 2) The transnational security regime comprised a variety of diverse and asym- metric national and international actors and spaces. The actors ranged from nation states to federal states, from European powers to states in Latin America, Asia or Africa. The United States, for instance, concluded between 1837 and 1889 more than 34 extradition treaties and conventions with states such as Baden (1837), Bremen (1857), German Confederation (1852), Neth- erlands (1880), Luxemburg (1883), Belgium (1874), Italy (1868), Domini- can Republic (1867), Ecuador (1872), Japan (1886) or the Ottoman Empire (1874). On the part of the states, different legal and governmental institutions were involved: police forces/officials, courts, diplomats, and jurists. These international experts and jurists extensively published on issues of trans- and international law, and convened at international conferences such as the International Congress on the Prevention and Repression of Crime held in London 1872 or the International Conference of Rome for the Social Defence Against Anarchists held in Rome 1898. Moreover, experts, jurists, police officers and state officials formed international associations and organizations (such as the International Union of Penal Law founded in 1889) issuing bulletins and journals and dealing extensively with matters of transnational crime, security and international criminal law (Bach Jensen 1981; Bellmann 1994; Kesper-Biermann and Overath 2006; Henze 2010). 3) The actors of the transnational security dispositive (or regimes) formed national and international discourses, manifested in a variety of expert writings, conferences and associations as well as influencing popular media covering issues of international security. The transnational security regimes were constructed and legitimized by these cross-border security discourses revolving around the issue of cross-border crime and transnational security threats, notably political violence, conspiracies – especially the international anarchist conspiracy – and international political and common crimes such

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 101 as slave trading and trafficking in women, drug traffic, piracy, and organized smuggling. Though we may find some historical evidence for an empirical increase of cross-border crime in the 19th century, “international organized crime” and violent political groups or conspiracies in particular constituted the pivotal narrative of the transnational security discourse constructing and defining transnational security as well as influencing the concrete security policies dealing with transnational issues (Bercé and Fasano Guarini 1996; Knepper 2010; Messer-Kruse 2012). 4) The transnational security regimes were characterized by the establishment and differentiation of specific practices, security techniques and procedures in the fields of extradition, judicial and police co-operation. They concerned, for instance, the cross-border exchange of intelligence, border and migration control, surveillance of exiles and asylum seekers as well as the establishment of specific extradition procedures and expulsion measures. Whereas the practice of extradition and mutual legal assistance are hardly researched, some studies have thoroughly analyzed political/secret police and trans- and international police co-operation (Fijnaut and Hermans 1987; Fijnaut 1993; Liang 1992; Emsley 1997; Deflem 2002; Jäger 2006). Cross-border activities of political dissidents and violent groups (such as the anarchists), the formation of political exiles as well as assassination attempts (especially in the last third of the 19th century) were perceived as a transnational security threat and “international conspiracy” to which many states reacted with the establishment and expansion of political police. For instance, between 1790-1900 in Central Europe/Germany the following organizations were established and operated: the Central/Extraordinary Investigating Commission (Zentralunter- suchungskommission Mainz, 1819-1828); the Central Investigating Agency (Zentraluntersuchungsbehörde Frankfurt, 1833-1842); the Political Police Agency of Prussia and the Generalpolizeidirektor (1848/1853); the Secret State Police (geheime Staatspolizei, 1866); the German Police Association and Po- lice Conferences (Polizeiverein und Polizeikonferenzen, 1851-1866); the reor- ganized Political Police Agency of Prussia (1878), and the Central Agency to Combat the Anarchist Movement (Zentralstelle zur Bekämpfung der anar- chistischen Bewegung, 1898/99). These organizations also operated on a transnational level and collected and exchanged intelligence, controlled communication and public activities (speech, assemblies, pamphlets, foreign press, smuggling of propaganda), controlled migration and mobility (passport control, examination of passengers at railway stations), employed “modern scientific” methods of identification (Bertillonage, portrait parlé, fingerprints), conducted investigations of suspect foreigners and groups, established and employed informers, secret and double agents, agents provocateur and confidents in foreign states, and helped in the surveillance of foreign dissidents, refugees and exiles. The practical experience and the intelligence gained were used to produce, distribute and exchange knowledge of security threats via files, card

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 102 indexes, lists, dossiers, black lists, black books, periodical reports, the continuous anarchist album, semi-official prints, or police journals. All in all, this resulted in a growing knowledge base and fundamental techniques of transnational policing and securitization, established through the co-operation and communication of police officials and experts who, for instance, participated in international conferences, meetings and discourses such as the International Conference of Rome for the Social Defense Against Anarchists (1898), the Second Anti-Anarchist Conference (St. Petersburg 1904), or the First Interna- tional Criminal Police Congress (Monaco 1914), which in the end led to the establishment of Interpol (Bach Jensen 1981; 2001; 2009; Deflem 1996; 2000; 2005; Dipaola 2004; 2007; Jäger 2006). These elements of the international security regimes and their respective fields – extradition, asylum, judicial and police co-operation – were characterized by complex interdependencies and interactions, and their practices and discourses formed a security dispositive that influenced the perception and legal conceptualization of cross-border security threats and “international political crime” as well as transnational conspiracy theories. However, the formation of transnational security and criminal law regimes was also characterized by legal pluralism, fragmentation and “regime collisions”, resulting in specific (as well as changing) configurations and uncertainty. To indicate just a few key questions which could direct (or irritate) further research: - the scope of the transnational regimes, notably with regard to the diverse actors and the integration of non-European states into the emerging international security regime; this is related to the question of whether we can discern groups of states following different security policies, grounded in different legal traditions or different symbolic functions of security policies on an international level; - the effects of negotiated transnational “soft law” and regulations on national criminal law and practices of security (for instance police activities, surveillance of foreigners, political groups etc.). There is strong evidence that the emerging transnational security (and criminal law) regimes altered national law and led to processes of criminalization, impaired the legal control of security practices (institutions, procedures etc.), fostered or legitimized the restriction of civil and liberal rights – notably concerning political asylum and the extradition of suspects – in favour of security; - the conceptualization of crimes and security threats on an trans- and international level as well the retroactive effect of the transnational security regimes on the (national) perception and legal construction of specific international and political crimes; - the intensification and extension of political police and political policing (and concomitant security techniques) to a trans- and international level via co-operation, congresses, and the cross-border production and distribution of knowledge and intelligence.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 103 In conclusion, this proposal argues that these roughly depicted developments and changes did not produce a coherent international legal order of criminal law, but transnational security regimes which are characterized by flexibility, various practices, fragmentation, collisions, and Entrechtlichung, transgressing the national legal order, extending securitization to indefinite “global” security spaces, and exerting the narratives of international crime, political violence and conspiracies. This may yield some explanation for current structural problems of international criminal law and criminal justice dominated by security issues, but principally challenges Foucault’s security dispositive, which, in the end, should be substituted by the historical model of “security regimes”.

References

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 106 Conspiracism, Secrecy and Security in Restoration France: Denouncing the Jesuit Menace

∗ Geoffrey Cubitt

Abstract: »Verschwörungstheorien, Geheimnis und Sicherheit im Frankreich der Restaurationszeit: das Propagieren der Jesuiten-Bedrohung«. This article explores the historical and conceptual relationships between themes of conspiracy, secrecy and securitization, firstly through a general schematic discussion of their interconnections, and then through a specific focus on the polemics and strategies of the French Bourbon Restoration period (1814-1830). The conspiracist visions of this period are contextualized by relating them to longer- term evolutions in conceptions of the state and of politics, and to the impact of the French Revolution. Comparisons are drawn between the strategies of the Right, focusing on the idea of revolutionary conspiracy and generally linked to a governmentalist agenda, and of the Left, focusing on a vision of Jesuit or theocratic conspiracy and usually oppositional in character. The final section of the article analyses the denunciations of the Jesuits in greater detail, through the lens of a model of securitization. Emphasis is placed on the ways in which denouncers of Jesuit conspiracy combined historical argument with legal attacks on the Jesuits’ corporate existence, on the fluidity of their conceptions of the conspiratorial threat, and on the ways in which denunciations of Jesuit conspiracy reflect broader liberal anxieties over power and identity in an age of political transformation. Keywords: conspiracism, conspiracy theories, Jesuits, secrecy, securitization, Bourbon Restoration.

1. Introduction

Visions of imagined conspiracy supply scholars with, in Frédéric Monier’s words, “a privileged post for observing the fears and apprehensions, and beyond that the political and social sensibilities,” of modern societies (Monier 2003).1 In the century following the French Revolution, such visions were

∗ Geoffrey Cubitt, Department of History, University of York, Heslington, York YO10 5DD, UK; [email protected]. 1 There is a large and pluridisciplinary literature on conspiracism and conspiracy theories in different places and periods. See Byford (2011) for a recent overview. Much of this literature (e.g. Campion-Vincent 2005; Taguieff 2005; Fenster 2008; Knight 2002) focuses on conspiracy theories in contemporary culture or in twentieth-century history: for longer per-

Historical Social Research 38 (2012) 1, 107-128 Ň© GESIS pronounced and ubiquitous, and were elaborated across the political spectrum: while conservatives and reactionaries denounced the conspiracies of revolutionaries, associated at certain times particularly with Freemasonry, liberals and republicans set themselves to expose the hidden reality of counter- revolutionary and theocratic politics, identified by many with the Jesuit order. The present article will briefly address the conspiracist interpretations and rhetoric of the Right, but will dwell more deeply on this anti-Jesuit tradition. The article focuses especially on the political culture and experiences of the Bourbon Restoration period (1814-1830) of French history. This was a period of ambiguity and uncertainty – a period of apparent promise for post-Revolutionary liberalism undercut by perpetual dangers of counter-revolutionary retrench- ment. Denunciations of conspiracy by the Jesuits and their perceived allies (identified with varying degrees of vagueness using terms like the Congréga- tion and the parti prêtre) supplied a language for denouncing the politics of theocracy and ultraroyalism that had appeal both to outright opponents of the Bourbon regime and to those who sought to steer it in a more liberal direction, and also indeed to some of its more conservative supporters – men like the Comte de Montlosier, whose Mémoire à consulter sur un système religieux et politique tendant à renverser la religion, la société et le trône (1826), couched in the tones of Gallican monarchism, was to be the most influential tract in this anti-theocratic tradition. In previous work, I have explored the contribution of the conspiracy theory concerning the Jesuits to the politics of Restoration France, and its place in a broader history of conspiracist thinking (Cubitt 1993).2 This article has a different purpose – to examine Restoration attacks on the Jesuits in relation to the concept of securitization. How do models of securitization assist our analysis of the themes and terms of anti-Jesuit denunciations? How, in turn, can reflections on the ways in which Jesuit conspiracy was imagined nourish our thinking on securitization processes? My discussion of these issues moves from the broad and schematic to the particular. Section 2 presents introductory general observations on the triangular relationships between concepts of security, secrecy and conspiracy. Section 3 contextualizes the developments of the Restoration period by sketching a schematic outline of long term evolutions in the way these concepts were entangled. Section 4 focuses more specifically on the ideological conditions of the Restoration itself and outlines certain comparisons between the conspiracist thinking of Left and Right during this period. Section 5

spectives, see the older works of e.g. Hofstadter (1965), Davis (1971), Roberts (1972), Rogalla von Bieberstein (1976), and Poliakov (1980-5). My own earlier thinking on conspiracy theories in general is set out in Cubitt (1989a; 1993, esp. 1-3, 295-309). 2 Many of the aspects of nineteenth-century French anti-Jesuitism that are referred to here are explored further in Cubitt (1993), and also in Leroy (1992). For discussion of the anti- Jesuit tradition across a longer period, see Brou (1906-7), Leroy (2000), Burke (2001).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 108 explores the denunciations of Jesuit and Jesuitical conspiracy in more detail, analysing their strategy and thematics in relation to the concept of securitization.

2. Security, Secrecy and Conspiracy: General Observations

The starting point for this discussion is the so-called ‘Copenhagen school’ framework – the model for thinking about security set out most influentially in Buzan, Wæver and De Wilde’s Security; a New Framework for Analysis (1998). The Copenhagen school rejects a reified notion of security, such as would provide criteria for distinguishing ‘real’ security threats from false ones, in favour of a constructivist understanding of ‘securitization’ as a process. Securitization, in this understanding, consists in the designation of particular fields or realms of activity as ones in which a existential threat is being immi- nently posed to the survival and integrity of some ‘referent object’, whose value and legitimacy require special measures of security – measures, in other words, which go beyond and perhaps infringe the normal rules of politics – to be taken in its defence. Securitization begins in arguments (‘securitizing moves’), advanced by individuals or groups (‘securitizing actors’), who detect or wish to affirm an urgent threat to the referent object, but securitization as a process is only accomplished when these arguments gain acceptance in decision-making circles, and sufficient acquiescence from society at large for security measures to be set in place – a process which may or may not involve the establishment or mobilization of specialist security agencies or institutions (Buzan, Wæver, and De Wilde 1998, esp. ch. 2). Security arguments are always likely to be contested, whether because the existence or gravity of the threat is questioned, or because the exceptional measures proposed for dealing with that threat are regarded as excessive or as posing a threat to other referent objects. Processes of securitization may in some cases therefore require a certain secrecy or may be actively resisted in certain quarters. Though the term ‘security dispositif’ is not present in the original Copenha- gen school formulation, it offers a convenient way of describing the usually heterogeneous assemblage of material and immaterial elements (discourses, arguments, images, regulatory measures, laws, institutional and spatial arrangements) through which securitization is enacted and expressed in particular cases. Thus understood, a ‘security dispositif’ is not a rigid structure, but a flexible amalgam of different elements that may be combined in different ways at different moments. Crucial to the concept of a ‘dispositif’, however, is the idea that such combinations have (in Foucault’s words) ‘a dominant strategic function’ of ‘responding to an urgent need’ (Foucault 1980, 194-5) – in this case that of protecting the referent object against existential threat. The notion

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 109 of a ‘security dispositif’ thus reinforces the notions of urgency and response that are implicit in the concept of securitization itself. Building on the Copenhagen school model, we may suggest that four distinct though often interconnecting motions of identification typically play a part in securitization processes and in the ‘security dispositifs’ they give rise to. These identify, respectively, the ‘referent object’ (in modern societies usually the state or nation, though it may in some cases be e.g. a dynasty, religion or the church, or some abstraction like public morality or modern civilisation); the human forces threatening that object (often but not always a definable collectivity – a group or race or secret society or political movement); the terrain or terrains on which the threat is allegedly posed (typically the traditional terrains of political, military and diplomatic activity, but possibly also including terrains like the economy, education, culture or the environment); and the means or agencies of redress (the special measures, particular laws, institutions, media or police and security agencies that are looked to as the means of combating the security threat). The relationships between these identifying motions, and the relative weight attached to them at particular moments, are however historically variable: not every denunciation of a menacing collectivity pays detailed attention to the modes of redress; not every affirmation of a referent object’s vulnerability on a particular terrain clearly specifies the enemy. In some scenarios, already established security agencies – police forces, intelligence services, religious inquisitions – take the initiative in mapping security terrains and denouncing new groups of enemies. In other cases, securitization may be driven more by a sudden shift in definitions of the referent object (a shift from legitimate monarchy to republican democracy, for example), or by the increased currency of a particular vision of the subversive enemy (a conspiracy theory about a particular group, for example). Historicizing security means paying attention not just to accomplished processes of securitization, but to security arguments, the debates they provoke, and the larger cultural imaginaries they draw upon. These arguments, debates and imaginaries may be politically, socially and culturally significant even when the means of carrying securitization into institutional effect are lacking. Nor, as the Copenhagen school themselves make clear (Buzan, Wæver, and De Wilde 1998, 27), need we restrict our attention in such a historicizing project to cases where the terminology of ‘security’ that has become familiar in the contexts of modern state activity and international relations is explicitly in use: the concept of securitization may also be a useful analytical device in exploring earlier patterns of alarm and response, revolving, for example, around concepts of heresy, witchcraft, conspiracy or cabal. In what follows, we will focus particularly on the long-running triangular entanglement of security arguments with notions of secrecy and of conspiracy. Security and secrecy have obvious, but sometimes ambiguous, historical linkages. Secrecy – in the sense of information or interests concealed or ex-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 110 empted from scrutiny – may be envisaged as an attribute of the referent object (the state, for example): state secrets may be part of what security measures are designed to protect. But secrecy may also be part of the means of protection: the need to securitize security operations themselves breeds an escalating clan- destinity – a growth of the ‘secret state’ – which can in turn provoke mistrust and suspicion, especially when security agencies are perceived to be (perhaps clandestinely) violating the legitimate secrets of others. “A symmetrical relationship of mistrust and fear” (Dewerpe 1994, 94) between security agencies and citizens, grounded in the duality of secrecy as means of power and means of evasion, weaves itself through many security scenarios. Conspiracism – the tendency to think of politics and society in terms of conspiratorial machinations – further enriches the mix. Conspiracy combines connotations of secrecy with ones of collusion, planning and deception. Conspira- cies can be imagined against the security of the state (or some other referent object), in defence of that security, and in subversion of that defence from within: discourses evoking them can articulate the ways in which security actors and security agencies view the world around them, or can form part of the way they themselves are viewed. The element of secrecy in conspiracy, furthermore, can be taken to operate on different imagined levels: what is felt to be secret may, in some cases, be the very existence of an unsuspected group of political actors (a secret society or occult government); in others, it may be the hidden motives or concealed loyalties of recognised public figures (as in the frequent denunciations of politicians as conspirators during the French Revolu- tion) or the secret machinations of security agencies themselves (Cubitt 1989b). There are multiple ways, therefore, in which conspiracist thinking can help to prime, or in turn can be primed by, securitization strategies. Unravelling these historically also involves taking stock of significant variations in conspiracism itself as a discursive phenomenon. One must distinguish, for example, between conspiracism of the diffuse kind, which habitually seeks conspiratorial explanations of events without necessarily joining them together in a larger pattern, and conspiracism as we find it in the more developed conspiracy theory visions, which posits the conspiratorial agency of a particular group – the Jews, or Jesuits, or Freemasons, or Communists, for example – as a driving force in contemporary affairs, and perhaps in history more generally, and which maintains this as a standing explanation and a key alarmist theme over a significant period (Cubitt 1989a, 13-14; 1993, 1). Conspiracist discourse also oscillates between a preoccupation with the exposure of individual guilt (involving the denunciation of conspirators and the discovery of links between them) and the interpretative mapping of sinister patterns in history and current affairs, in which emphasis is placed on the deceptiveness of surface appearances and the binary character of a reality shaped by the confrontations of good and evil, but in which culprits may be only vaguely identified (Cubitt 1989a, 19-24; 1993, 296).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 111 3. Contextualizing Restoration Conspiracism

Moving on from these general reflections on the complex intersections between notions of security, of secrecy and of conspiracy, but remaining at a schematic level, we may posit a historical evolution, from the security world of the early absolutist state to that of modern political societies. In the imaginative economy of the absolutist state, legitimate secrecy is concentrated around the ruler: secretiveness is an attribute of sovereignty, a “ruse du pouvoir” (Dewerpe 1994, 75) and ordinary members of society, individually or collectively, have no right to protection from the ruler’s sovereign gaze. Conspiracy as a political crime is similarly concentrated: it takes the form either of conspiracy against the person of the monarch, or of conspiracy to subvert or to resist the monarch’s intentions and the operations of monarchical power. In the emerging state forms of the modern era, this absolutist conception gives way gradually to one in which sovereignty is seen as vested in society or in the people, and in which state secrecy can therefore only be justified in terms of the public interest (Dewerpe 1994, 77-9). At the same time, however, the increasing complexity of state structures means that opportunities for the illicit subversion or cir- cumvention of power, and space to imagine conspiracies within and around those structures, are generally increased. Transparency is withheld, suspicions of occult government or corruption within the system proliferate. Although post-enlightenment thinking gives a central place to notions of transparency, it by no means abolishes the tendency to view secrecy as an operational necessity of statecraft (Dewerpe 1994, 79-81). Indeed, the modern tendency to posit the state as the mechanism through which society legitimately regulates and thus ensures and protects the well-being of its members simply transforms the terms in which this necessity is affirmed. It is in the interest of society, and of whatever values society is presumed to embody, that the state claims for its agencies a monopoly over “la méfiance légitime” (Karila-Cohen 2005, 731, 746; also Dewerpe 1994, 85-7) – a right of scrutiny over society, coupled with a right to be themselves exempted from scrutiny where the needs of security require it. In affirming this monopoly, however, it also acquires powers of penetration into society that bring it into conflict with claims of privacy as a crucial aspect of the liberty of individuals. If the state is one zone of contention in this transition to a modern politics of security and conspiracy, public opinion is another. The promise of post- enlightenment thinking is that public opinion, articulated through the press and perhaps through representative institutions, can ensure the transparency that state structures may withhold. Yet this protection is itself uncertain, if opinion itself can be subverted or manipulated. Corruption of public opinion, whether through calumny or the false inflation of reputations (a common theme in French Revolutionary conspiracy polemics), or through the penetration of the media or of education – the twin vehicles of public enlightenment – by a vi-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 112 cious sectional interest, becomes a recurrent theme of conspiracist discourse in the modern era. The conspiracist denunciations of the French Restoration, both on the Right and on the Left, participate in these long-term evolutions. The Restoration, however, was a period of ambiguity and uncertainty, at once shaped by and framed in tension with the ruptures of the Revolutionary era that preceded it.3 The Revolution had decisively called in question, without yet comprehensively banishing from the stage of history, the monarchical concepts of sovereignty that had underpinned the political culture of the old regime. The Revolution had also, in its Jacobin phase especially, witnessed the escalating development of a security culture grounded in an almost delirious vision of conspiracy against the Revolution and against the public interest: Revolutionary patriotism was framed in terms of ceaseless vigilance and readiness to denounce the enemies of the people (see e.g. Cubitt 1989; 1999; Tackett 2000; Linton 2004; Furet 1981, 53-8; Hunt 1984, 38-45). The Revolutionary Terror that resulted was in many respects a cautionary episode for the generations that followed: it carried a warning, to liberals as well as to conservatives, of the dangers of a politics founded on the institutionalisation of conspiracist mistrust (e.g. Malan- dain 2011, 168). Even as they sought to defend the achievements of the Revo- lution in the face first of Napoleonic despotism and then of Restoration ultraroyalist reaction, post-Revolutionary liberals would feel the need to distance themselves from this Jacobin example. On the other hand, Restoration political culture continued to be marked by a pervasive binarism, grounded in the historical cleavage that the Revolution was perceived to have initiated. Both on the Left and on the Right – and the distinction between political Left and Right is itself, of course, an expression of this binarism – the assumption that the modern era was the site of a fundamental confrontation between Revolution and Counter-Revolution, between the spirits and legacies of the Ancien Régime and of the new world that the Revolution had initiated, and that this was so to speak the concealed reality beneath the surface vicissitudes of modern politics, was widespread. Everything, the liberal polemicist abbé de Pradt affirmed in 1825, was now reducible to a single question: “for or against the Revolution, before or after the Revolution” (De Pradt 1825, 237). Some political actors identified intransigently with one of the ex- tremes in this polarity, and were apt to find that the methods of the conspiratorial secret society – republican or Bonapartist on the one hand (Spitzer 1971;

3 For an exposition of another aspect of this ambiguity, involving the tension between a politics of oubli geared to ‘forgetting’ and therefore healing the social and political wounds of the Revolutionary period, and a contrary politics geared to remembering and expiating Revolutionary criminality and apostasy, see Kroen (1998; 2000, ch. 1). General surveys of Restoration politics include Bertier de Sauvigny (1966); Jardin and Tudesq (1983); Wares- quiel (1996). On the politics of the Restoration Left more specifically, see Alexander (2003).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 113 1973; Lambert 1995; Tardy 2006), ultraroyalist or theocratic on the other (Bertier de Sauvigny 1948) – were the only ways of pursuing their extremist agendas. Others – realists or moderates of either camp – sought to craft a middle way, placing faith in the constitutional monarchism embodied in the Char- ter of 1814 to balance the legitimate interests of monarchy and society. The pervasive binarism meant, however, that moderate positions were perpetually vulnerable to the suspicion of concealing conspiratorial extremist agendas. And with suspicion came the possibility of denunciation: wary though Frenchmen might be of rekindling the excesses of the Terror, readiness to denounce a conspiratorial enemy continued for many to be a key element in civic responsibility. Denunciation, as Gilles Malandain has put it in summarizing this position, was “necessary in order to re-establish an indispensable self-transparency of the social body and to emerge from the Revolutionary anxiety [inquiétude]” (Malandain 2011, 168). Coupled to this habit of suspicion was an entrenched ambivalence about state power, again across most of the political spectrum. The Restoration inherited a potent police apparatus, shaped by the successive authoritarian concerns of the Ancien Régime, the Revolution and the Napoleonic Empire, and geared to assorted forms of surveillance and clandestine action (Malandain 2003, 67- 73, Riberette 1979; Berlière 2003). It inherited also habits of administrative thought that viewed the state as the exerciser of a necessary and persistent surveillance over society, increasingly justifying this surveillance in terms of the state’s function of developing and deploying expert knowledge of society “and of the tensions traversing it” (Karila-Cohen 2005, 747). These ideological and organisational elements were in obvious tension with those other currents in post-Enlightenment thinking that stressed the primacy of individual liberty, the need for transparency in government, and the sanctity of the private sphere. These tensions found no stable resolution in the Restoration period, or for a good time afterwards. Out of power, politicians of different ideological hues denounced the manipulative and inquisitorial practices of the police and sounded the alarm over threats to the liberties of families and individuals. As part of this, they were often scathing in analysing the destructive anti-conspiratorial obsessions of public officials, Guizot’s Des Conspirations et de la justice politique (1821) being the most notable work in this vein. As potential users of power, however, few politicians were willing to forgo or to dismantle the facilities of control and surveillance that the post-Revolutionary state afforded. As Pierre Karila-Cohen has shown, parliamentary debate over the fonds secrets – the funding of the political police – was always lively, but was underscored by a fairly general acceptance that secret policing methods of some sort or other were a natural and necessary facet of state power (Karila-Cohen 2005).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 114 4. Conspiracy, Government and Opposition: Right and Left

Conceptions of a conspiratorial threat to the French state or French society tended during this period to prioritise internal over external dangers. This is to some extent an artificial distinction. Both on the left and on the right, the binary struggle was conceived to be universal rather than merely French in its scope and implications. Frenchmen avidly scrutinized the press for reports of Revolu- tionary or Counter-Revolutionary advances in other countries, and in the case of the Jesuits, the idea that the hidden enemy had its organizational centre in Rome – that it was, in the liberal lawyer Dupin aîné’s much repeated words a “sword whose hilt is at Rome and whose point is everywhere” (Procès 1826, 129) – was a common polemical theme. Even in this case, however, those imagining a Jesuit occult power were at least as likely to locate its centre at ‘Montrouge’ – the site of the Jesuit noviciate to the South of Paris, taken by many to be the order’s French headquarters. The emphasis was not on conspiratorial aggressions by one state power against another: the primary enemy was not the foreigner, but the ideological enemy within France itself. Both on the Right and on the Left, then, denunciations of a conspiratorial enemy were a recurrent feature of French Restoration political mentalities. Right-wing denunciations of Revolutionary conspiracy and left-wing denunciations of the Jesuits and their associates had certain similarities, and performed some of the same legitimising and explanatory functions. A closer inspection, however, also reveals differences. The most obvious is that the Right’s denunciation of conspiracy remained, throughout the Restoration, largely focused on an oppositional threat, a threat from outside the state structure. The Left’s denunciations of conspiracy, by contrast, dealt more flexibly with a conspiracy that was sometimes imagined to be threatening the structures of power from without, and sometimes to be entrenched within them as a form of occult government. Prior to 1820 (and more briefly in 1828-9), liberals were able to see Restoration monarchy as offering, at least potentially, a viable constitutional structure for the development of a liberal polity: the Jesuits were denounced as a danger, but not yet as an integral part of the system. Between 1820 and 1827 and after 1829, as the ultraroyalist grip on Restoration government was felt to tighten, denunciations of Jesuit conspiracy focused more and more on the idea of a governmental power colonized and subverted from within. The ultraroyalist ministries of the period were denigrated first as governments allied to the Jesuits and then as governments in thrall to the Jesuits, or simply Jesuit governments. “The word Jesuit today characterizes the whole system of the government”, wrote the liberal journalist Thiers in early 1827 (in Marquant 1959, 392). Though the theme of Jesuit occult government could still be deployed by liberals in ways which avoided openly challenging the Bourbon monarchy

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 115 itself, images depicting Charles X himself as a Jesuit also began to circulate (Cubitt 1993, 100). Encompassed within this vision of a Jesuit power at work within the structures of government and administration was the idea that the apparatus of state security had itself been subverted, indeed, had become an active part of the means of subversion: the police had become, in liberal par- lance, ‘the police of the Congrégation’ or ‘of Montrouge’. Practical differences in the counter-conspiratorial strategies of Left and Right followed from this difference in the relationship to state power. The conspiracist vision of the Right evolved in a relatively close relationship to the security apparatus and to legal definitions of internal security.4 Gilles Malan- dain’s research on the evolution and uses of the law relating to conspiracies against the security of the state in France across the first half of the nineteenth century allow certain key points to be emphasised (Malandain 2003, 55-67). The Restoration preserved the 1810 Napoleonic Penal Code’s relatively narrow definition of ‘crimes against the internal security of the state’ as crimes against the life or person of the monarch and his family, including attempts or conspiracies to destroy or change the royal form of government or to disrupt the line of succession or to incite rebellion against royal authority, together with attempts or conspiracies to stir up civil war or other forms of internecine devastation, but excluding for example such crimes as obstructing the functioning of parliamentary assemblies which had found a place in the Revolutionary Code of 1791. The Restoration, however, broke new ground in its provisions for handling offences against security, by referring such offences to the special jurisdiction of the Chambre des Pairs, the higher parliamentary chamber functioning here as a legal tribunal, crucially without a jury. The Restoration also carried over from the Napoleonic Code that Code’s specific handling of the relationship between ‘complot’, ‘attentat’ and completed action, in relation to crimes against the monarch and his authority. By applying the same penalty – death and confiscation of property – to these three different moments in the working out of a conspiratorial design, the Code offered the advantage, for the authorities, of being able to nip conspiratorial projects in the bud, as soon as an agreement of individuals to act together in a treasonable purpose could be demonstrated, without the need to wait for concrete action, still less for the design to be put into effect (Malandain 2003, 62-7; 2011, 122- 5). The disadvantage, for the citizen, lay in the opening up of a massive exception to the otherwise generally held principle that only actions and not sentiments or intentions or suspected dispositions should be regarded as criminal. Critics like Guizot were quick to denounce the encouragement thus given to the authorities to deploy informers and agents provocateurs, and speculatively to

4 For continuations of the governmentalist and conservative preoccupation with conspiracy in the decades after the period considered here, see Tardy (2012); Poncier (1999); for a more general overview of the secret societies mythology, Roberts (1972).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 116 construct allegedly conspiratorial patterns out of patchworks of vaguely suspicious ‘faits généraux’ (Guizot, 1821; see also Tardy 2008). Where conspiracy in the strictest sense of a provable conjuration of actors to achieve a particular end proved hard to establish, as in the case of Louvel’s assassination of the Duc de Berry in 1820, ultraroyalist commentators fell back on the notion of a ‘conspiracy of ideas’, in which the perceived congruence of liberal doctrines with the regicidal outcome represented by Louvel’s attack was considered sufficient to establish the deed itself as in effect the outcome of a liberal conspiracy (Malandain 2011, 35; see also Skuy 2003). On the Left (and among more conservative critics of the Jesuits) as on the Right, the idea of a conspiratorial threat to the personal security of the monarch was frequently evoked. Regicide – as allegedly practised by the Jesuits against monarchs like Henri III and Henri IV and attempted against others – had long been a standard reference of anti-Jesuit polemic, and it retained its place in the repertoire under the Restoration. “It is against the principal members of the Bourbon family that the Jesuits turned the daggers of their fanatical pupils”, one author reminded royalist readers in 1824 (Flocon and Beckhaus 1824, xi), while two others in 1825 pointedly opened and closed a new history of Jesuit conspiracies against the Bourbons with the assertion that “The dagger which struck down the best of our kings [Henri IV] threatens his children” (Monglave and Chalas 1825, 1, 423). But while the regicidal theme remained popular, its uses on the Left were now mainly tactical: it is questionable whether many of those who denounced the Jesuits’ influence in the 1820s really feared a Jesuit- directed assault on the life of the monarch. When Louvel assassinated the Duc de Berry in 1820, the liberal press evoked the history of Jesuit regicide as a way of deflecting the ultraroyalist claim that regicidal outrages were necessarily liberal or revolutionary in origin, but their principal argument was that Lou- vel was an isolated fanatic, not that he was part of a Jesuit conspiracy (Cubitt 1993, 199-200). Liberals at this moment no doubt lacked the influence in police and judicial circles to launch a serious hunt for Jesuit regicidal conspirators, but a broader reading of anti-Jesuit denunciations suggests that their apprehensions were in any case focused in other areas. The elements composing the loose-knit ‘dispositif’ that took shape around the sometimes nebulous idea of a Jesuit- directed conspiracy may be anatomized under the four headings that emerged from our earlier schematic modelling of securitization: referent object, threatening forces, fields of insecurity, means of redress.

5. Restoration Anti-Jesuitism: Conspiracism, Legality and Securitization

The affective force of conspiracy theories, as of arguments for securitization, lies in the assumption that the conspiracy is aimed against a referent object (or

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 117 a plurality of such objects) whose legitimacy is generally recognised and whose existence and integrity are therefore highly valued. Establishing the definition of such referent objects is likely to be harder – but therefore possibly also more urgent – under conditions of contestation or division, where the very basis of political legitimacy is or has recently been in question. The uses of the anti- Jesuit conspiracy vision in Restoration France were closely linked to the com- plexities of an oppositional politics that sought to present itself as a defence of core political values, while challenging the way those values were interpreted by ultra-royalist opinion. It was linked also, at a more pragmatic level, to the need to bring together different factions of opposition – royalist and Gallican as well as liberal or closet Bonapartist or Republican – whose potential for collaboration lay more in common hostility to theocracy than in any broader political agreement. A certain equivocation, or at least a degree of flexibility or mutability in the definition of the referent object were common features of the conspiracist vision. Montlosier’s famous denunciation described ‘un système religieux et politique tendant à renverser la religion, la société et le trône’ – a triadic formulation of the referent object with an obvious appeal to conservative royalists of a Gallican persuasion like the author himself (Montlosier 1826a). The Liberal newspaper Le Constitutionnel, on the other hand, declared in the same year that France saw in the reapparition of the Jesuits the counter-revolution in its entirety, a war to the death against her institutions, against her laws, her moeurs, her enlightenment and her prosperity; the ruination of the liberty which she has only obtained through so many efforts and sacrifices, and the return of the bloody regime of theocracy (Le Constitu- tionnel 23 September 1826). The emphasis here was on the defence of an institutional, legal and cultural status quo, viewed as existentially fundamental to the nation, but defined less through an association with monarchy and religion than as the moderate liberal legacy of the Revolutionary achievement. Though differently inflected, conservative and liberal formulations of the referent object were not necessarily incompatible: anti-Jesuit polemics frequently combined elements of the two. If the definition of the referent object was flexible and variable, the identification of the threatening forces also presented certain ambiguities, though the Jesuits were at the core of most accounts. The most obvious ambiguities stemmed from the assumed and imagined but often vaguely specified relationship between the Jesuits in the strict sense (those who were or were held to be actual members of the Society of Jesus) and the ranks of the so-called Congré- gation – the latter term referring to what was alleged to be a secret society of Jesuitical laymen masquerading as a pious confraternity (Bertier de Sauvigny 1948, 369-74, 402-7; Cubitt 1993, 80-2, 216-8).5 Denouncers of the Jesuits saw

5 The conspiracist vision of the Congrégation conflated perceptions of a genuine pious association directed by the Jesuit Père Ronsin with ones probably reflecting the activity of an ul-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 118 the Congrégation (or sometimes the congrégations in the plural, to indicate multiple organisations) as a powerful network of Jesuit affiliations – an organized horde of ‘short-robed Jesuits’ extending the reach of Jesuit power in the political arena and throughout society (Cubitt 1993, 80-2). According to the Journal des débats, the Congrégation “is to Jesuitism what the pioneers are to the army: it prepares the way” (Journal des débats 13 March 1826). But though this network was frequently denounced, its structures typically remained opaque; indeed this opacity was sometimes cited as proof of its Jesuit character. In Montlosier’s account, the Congrégation was “as confused in its composition as in its object, and in its object as in its origin”: It is as impossible for me to say with precision what it is, as to show how, in the past, it has successively formed, extended, organized itself. I say organized, with the reservation that sometimes its body is whole; and then one sees a trunk and limbs; at other times some of these limbs withdraw from it, it appears mutilated. The body itself is composed in such a way as to be able, when convenient, to dispel itself like a shadow; and then one wonders whether it is true that a congrégation exists (Montlosier 1826a, 17-9). The myth of the Congrégation significantly extended the range of anti-Jesuit suspicions. A dual logic characteristic of conspiracist reasoning came into operation: wherever reactionary or theocratic encroachments were detected, even if the immediately observable agents were not apparently members of the Jesuit order, the Jesuits’ hidden hand was suspected; wherever actual Jesuits were found, even if their activities appeared outwardly inoffensive, a broader and darker conspiratorial design was deemed to be in operation. This dual patterning of the political imagination contributed strikingly to the denunciations of theocracy and occult government that became a ubiquitous feature of oppositional politics. The fields of insecurity – the terrains on which an existential threat to the referent object or objects (in their fluctuating definitions) was considered to be being posed – were thus diverse. Traditional references to regicide, though persistent, now shared the field with other denunciations: the controlling influence of the Jesuits was detected in the realm of ultraroyalist politics, in the hell- fire preaching of missionaries in the French countryside, in the proliferation of pious and charitable associations, in the education of the social elite. Even domesticity was a terrain of vulnerability: Stendhal claimed in 1826 that scarcely a respectable householder in France would have failed to notice the efforts made to turn his servants into Jesuit spies (New Monthly Magazine, October 2006). Critiques of Jesuit casuistry dating back to the seventeenth century were recycled to show the damaging effect that Jesuit education or Jesuit confessors would have on public and private morality (Cubitt 1993, 258-

traroyalist secret society, the Chevaliers de la Foi (Bertier de Sauvigny 1848, 369-74; see also Casanova 1970, 104-124).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 119 74). Wherever the tentacles of Jesuit affiliation or the sinister influence of Jesuit teachers or confessors could be imagined as reaching, referent objects were imagined to be under threat. Finding means of combatting such a proliferating, multi-faceted, outwardly amorphous and shifting conspiratorial menace, other than simply by publicity, was inevitably problematic. The Jesuits’ opponents turned not to the Penal Code’s definitions of treasonable conspiracy, but to the law on associations, coupled to a vociferous strategy of historical exposure. Legal and historical arguments were closely entwined. Where the law on conspiracies focused attention on actions and intentions, real or alleged, invocations of the law on associations could only target the Jesuits’ existence as a collective or corporate entity – on the face of it, a rather oblique way of grappling with a conspiratorial enemy. Hence the energy devoted by anti-Jesuit commentators to cataloguing the past misdeeds attributed to the Jesuit order – listing regicidal attacks, listing acts of intolerance, assembling references to the sinister influence of Jesuit confessors – and assembling also the numerous condemnations and criticisms of the Jesuit order issued by secular and ecclesiastical authorities over the three centuries of the order’s previous existence (Cubitt 1993, 188-93). Recitation of the order’s damnable curriculum vitae created a mood in which the mere fact of its presence on French soil could be presented as pregnant with menace, while the act of placing themselves in line with successive waves of earlier critics of the order allowed Restoration denouncers of Jesuit influence to deflect the charge of partisanship. By placing their moderate defence of the Revo- lutionary achievement under the patronage of traditions of public vigilance deeply rooted in the soil of the Ancien Régime, post-revolutionary liberals could reach out, across the binary divide, to Gallican monarchist opponents of theocracy like Montlosier. Nor was this an entirely cynical manoeuvre. Even as they approved the work of the Revolution in demolishing the structures of the Ancien Régime, many liberals looked back with a degree of anxious nostalgia to the days when powerful corporate bodies like the Parlements and the Sor- bonne had been sturdy obstacles to Jesuit encroachments. In a post- Revolutionary society stripped of these defences, the rebuilding of security – whether by persuading contemporary institutions like the Cours Royales to assume the mantle of the Parlements, or by trusting in the press and parliamentary representatives to exercise a similar magistrature of vigilance informally – was a pressing priority (Cubitt 1993, 55-7). Establishing continuity between Ancien Régime and post-Revolutionary traditions of vigilance was not, however, a straightforward matter. The Jesuit order itself had been banned from France in the 1760s and disbanded by the Papacy in 1774; when it was restored in 1814, its presence in France, as elsewhere in Europe, had to be rebuilt almost from scratch (Cubitt 1993, 19-20; for more detail, Burnichon 1914-21). It was restored, furthermore, into a world whose political and social co-ordinates had been disrupted and radically altered

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 120 by the experience of the Revolution. Under these circumstances, the revival of anti-Jesuit vigilance depended on arguing, firstly, that the restored Jesuit order was the same as the old one, and secondly, that the essential principles that had inspired previous condemnations of the order were still applicable. The first of these needs was met by pointing to the continuity of the Jesuit order’s constitu- tions, deemed by anti-Jesuit commentators to be fundamental to the immutable spirit that had inspired the earlier record of Jesuit infamy: ‘it is evidently the same spirit’, declared Montlosier, ‘since it is the same institution’ (Montlosier 1826a, 129-30). In addressing the second need, anti-Jesuit commentators en- countered a more complex set of issues, relating to the law on associations, and more specifically to the legal status of religious orders.6 In a ruling that continued to be much cited in the nineteenth century, the Parlement de Paris in 1762 had declared the Society of Jesus to be […] inadmissible by its nature in every organized state [État policé], as contrary to natural right, damaging to [attentatoire à] all spiritual and temporal authority, and tending to introduce into the Church and into States, under the specious veil of a religious institute, […] a political body, whose essence consists in a continuous activity aiming by all sorts of routes, direct or indirect, concealed or public, first at an absolute independence, and successively at the usurpation of all authority […] (Arrêt du Parlement de Paris). Whether or not this pre-Revolutionary ruling retained any legal force in the new world of post-Revolutionary liberty – a matter that was debated – for Restoration opponents of the Jesuits its message of the intimate connection between evasion of surveillance, aspiration to independence and intended usurpation remained crucial. Restoration liberals, for all their advocacy of individual freedoms, seldom envisaged these freedoms as including an uncontrolled freedom of association. The influential liberal lawyer Dupin aîné asked rhetorically: “Where indeed is the people, where is the government that has ever ac- corded to its citizens the unlimited faculty of organizing themselves in secret as the fancy takes them, and of creating within the bosom of the great society secondary societies capable of counterbalancing by their influence the operation of the public powers” (Dupin 1860, 263). From this standpoint, organizations that avoided state surveillance – be they religious orders or secret societies or workers’ associations – were intrinsically and doubly suspect: first because their secretive existence was in itself a denial of legitimate state authority, and second, because such resistance to scrutiny could only be explained by a presumed need to conceal an illicit agenda. In the case of the Jesuits, arguments along these lines were given a specific inflection by debates over the legal status of unauthorized religious orders in

6 For a more detailed exposition of the legal issues summarized in the next two paragraphs, see Cubitt 1993, 44-54. The main legal arguments against the Jesuits are put in Dupin 1860, 263-98, 519-34.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 121 post-Revolutionary France. This status was ambiguous. The Revolution had abolished all religious congregations on French soil; the Napoleonic regime had replaced this with a regime of selective authorisation, which the Restora- tion had extended. The majority especially of male religious orders, including the Jesuits, remained formally unauthorised. Opponents of the Jesuits claimed that unauthorised meant illegal, and that the very fact of being a member of such an order was therefore a defiance of legality. Defenders of the Jesuits claimed that lack of authorization simply meant that the order (or the individual Jesuit establishment) as a collectivity was not a legally constituted corporate entity, empowered to own property and enter into contracts, but that the rights of its members as individuals – the religious liberty conferred by the Charter of 1814, the limited freedom of association allowed by the Penal Code – were quite sufficient to allow them to live together and work together, and to organ- ize their lives together in accordance with the discipline of a religious order, even if this order itself had no formal status in the eyes of the law. For most of the nineteenth century – until 1880, at least – the status of unauthorized religious orders remained contested, with neither the defenders nor the opponents of the Jesuits winning more than partial legal victories. This was so under the Restoration. Those seeking legal means of fighting back against what they saw as a reactionary theocratic conspiracy recognised the dubious legal status of the Jesuits as the point on which attack might be concentrated, but their efforts to exploit this weak point were only partially successful. The history of Montlosier’s campaign – the main focus for these efforts – was one of a gradual narrowing of focus and partial frustration (Cubitt 1993, 78-9). In the Mémoire à consulter, Montlosier described a multifaceted conspiratorial ‘sys- tème’. Four constituent ‘scourges’ or ‘great calamities’ were identified – the Congrégation, the Jesuits, Ultramontanism and “l’esprit d’envahissement des prêtres” (Montlosier 1826a) – and Montlosier’s initial hope may have been that the perpetrators of clerical aggression might somehow be caught up in a general procès de tendance encompassing all of these circumstantial elements, in a method somewhat resembling that used by the Right to detect Revolutionary conspiracy. Legal opinion, when consulted about the technicalities, tended to dismiss this possibility (of which liberal lawyers anxious not to sharpen weapons that the Right might put to use were always likely to be suspicious), and also made clear that if Montlosier’s four scourges were taken separately, only the first two (the Congrégation and the Jesuits) had the concreteness to be taken seriously as the objects of a judicial denunciation. Some indeed, considered it better to focus on the Jesuits alone, without whom, it was suggested “nothing of what M. de Montlosier complains of would take place” (Devaux et al. 1826, 2). When the Cour Royale de Paris considered the legal denunciation Mont- losier had submitted to it (Montlosier 1826b), it dismissed three out of the four scourges as not constituting legal offences: only the case against the Jesuits was recognised, and even here the court declined to act, on the grounds that enforc-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 122 ing the law against the Jesuits was a matter for the police. The Chambre des Pairs, to whom Montlosier submitted his complaints in the form of a petition (Montlosier 1827), again declined to broaden the focus, forwarding to the government only those parts of the petition that concerned the Jesuits’ unauthorised existence. What had begun, in Montlosier’s mind and in oppositional public opinion generally, as a broad and rather sprawling denunciation of conspiratorial theocratic aggressions became increasingly a movement focused on removing the Jesuits. Even on this ground, the movement’s success was equiv- ocal. Although Villèle’s ultraroyalist government owed its downfall at the end of 1827 at least partially to public resentment of its failure to act against a religious order that the Cour Royale had now – in the spirit of the Parlement – declared to be not just technically illegal but founded on principles incompatible with the independence of civil government and with the Restoration’s own constitutional Charter of 1814, the more liberal Martignac government that followed still hesitated to act, and limited itself when it finally did so in June 1828 to issuing ordinances preventing Jesuits and other members of unauthorised religious orders from operating in the educational arena. This was in practice an important blow to the restored Jesuit order, but it left much of what Montlosier and others had denounced under the heading of Jesuitical conspiracy largely untouched. After a brief lull, anti-Jesuit language continued to be deployed in the political arena, particularly after Charles X’s instigation of the ultraroyalist Polignac ministry in 1828, and the Revolution of July 1830 which finally toppled the Restoration monarchy would be represented in liberal quarters as aimed as much against the Jesuits as against the dynasty (Cubitt 1993, 101-4). But if the effort to combat the Jesuits as an association was inconclusive, the arguments used in these legal debates are significant also for the ways in which they bring certain distinctive liberal insecurities into focus. From the liberal point of view, two particular nightmares flickered around these debates. The first had to do with the use of the language of individual liberty to protect the Jesuits’ shadowy existence as a collectivity. Liberals deplored the hypocrisy, as they saw it, of using liberal arguments to defend the notorious enemies of modern liberty. They also, going further, maintained that the Jesuits’ vow of absolute obedience debarred them from being entitled to the benefits of individuality. Jesuits were not their own masters: their individuality was an illusion, masking a complete devotion to the Jesuit cause. Liberal and anti-Jesuit polemic extended this argument further, to cover those who were regarded as Jesuit affiliates: through the Congrégation and other networks, the Jesuit order was seen as reaching out to penetrate and enrol French society. This was the sinister vision sketched by the liberal deputy Duvergier de Hauranne in 1826: The councils of the prince, the law courts, the clergy, the corps constitués, and the ranks of all the citizens may be filled with affiliates unknown both to the prince and to the public, all acting in accord with secret orders, and exerting

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 123 themselves to secure the acceptance of maxims contrary to the interests of the monarch and of the State (Duvergier de Hauranne 1826-8, vol. I, 199). Here was the first nightmare insecurity of Liberalism: the breakdown of the liberal society of independent individuals through the misappropriation of Liberal freedoms. The second nightmare had to do with surveillance and information. By craft- ing an elusive commonality for themselves in the shadow realm of the unauthorised, the Jesuits escaped the official scrutiny that would have been required for authorisation. According to their denouncers, this evasion of surveillance not only preserved the secrecy that surrounded Jesuit objectives; it also protected the operations of the order’s own intelligence network – of the systematic espionage they were able to conduct by means of the confessional and of their secret affiliates in different walks of life (doctors, lawyers, servants and so on). According to Giovanni Libri’s slightly later (1843) claims, the Jesuit headquarters at Rome contained enormous registers of the information on individuals gathered by these illicit means – “the most gigantic biographical compilation that has ever been assembled since the world began”. “When [the Jesuits] need[ed] to act on an individual”, Libri maintained, “they open the book, and they know immediately his life, his qualities, his defects, his projects, his family, his friends, his most secret liaisons” (Libri 1843, 978-9). The Jesuits’ ex- emption from surveillance exposed society to Jesuit espionage; the privacy claimed for the unauthorized left the legitimate secrecy of individuals and families exposed to violation. Indeed, inasmuch as the Jesuits were able, through their affiliates, to manipulate the state security system, the very system of surveillance that they themselves evaded became the instrument of their own hold over society. In a world where information had become a crucial lever of power, the conspiratorial image of the Jesuits as usurpers of the surveillant function revealed the insecurities that haunted the liberal faith in transparency.

6. Conclusion

Applying the lens of a concept of securitization to conspiracist mentalities is an illuminating but also a narrowing interpretative project. Conspiracist reasoning has been part of the matrix of ideas and assumptions out of which, at certain historical moments, securitizing arguments and strategies have emerged, but it does not follow from this that models of securitization on their own give a full account of how conspiracy theories function socially and politically. Conspira- cy theories do indeed denounce an existential threat to the welfare, integrity and even survival of a referent object or objects, but their possible functions run beyond the safeguarding of that object or objects through exceptional measures. Denunciations of sinister Jesuit influence could serve, under the Restoration, a variety of political purposes, helping oppositional spokesmen to

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 124 forge alliances, to deflect dangers, to discredit political opponents, and perhaps in some cases to conceal radical intentions behind a veil of moderate securitizing concern. These political functions were not precisely aligned with, and may sometimes even have been at odds with, the needs of a securitizing strategy geared not just to denouncing but also to nullifying a particular conspiratorial threat. Liberal and oppositional strategy proceeded on two levels, oscillating between the legal pursuit of the Jesuit order and the use of anti-Jesuit rhetoric for broader political purposes. It was partly because anti-Jesuit rhetoric served these two purposes simultaneously that its own contours and points of focus were often fluid and shifting, accommodating oscillation between different definitions of the referent objects threatened by Jesuit machinations, between broader and narrower accounts of the menacing forces and of the fields of their most menacing activity, and between historical and contemporary emphases. Thinking about anti-Jesuitism with a model of securitization in mind does, however, enable us to see more clearly how shifts in visions of conspiracy could affect the terms of securitizing constructions. It allows us to see not just how conspiracist understandings could nourish the mood of alarm from which securitizing moves emerged, but also how ongoing reconfigurations of the Jesuitical menace contributed in the nineteenth century to a diversification of the territories on which security concerns would be elaborated. Mental constructions of menace and of vulnerability were broadened out from a focus on assassination and political espionage to socially-focused anxieties about education, association, the family and morality. And by exploring the mental world of conspiracism, we can also deepen our understanding of the insecurities that have informed the politics of securitization: at stake in the campaigns against Jesuit conspiracy were not only the openly stated perceived threats to state and society and modernity, but deeper insecurities at the heart of liberal values.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 128 Conspiracy, Security, and Human Care in Donnersmarck’s Leben der Anderen

∗ John T. Hamilton

Abstract: »Verschwörung, Sicherheit und menschliche Sorge in Donnersmarcks Leben der Anderen«. Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s acclaimed film, Das Leben der Anderen (2006), affords a provocative opportunity for investigating the relation between conspiracy and security. Although state-sponsored conspiracies breed insecurity among the citizenry, they nonetheless also provide the ground for epistemological security, insofar as the threat can be decisively located. In pressing the literal definition of security as “the removal of concern,” this article interprets the film according to shifting modalities of care. Considered as a vast conspiratorial network against its own populace, the East German Ministry for State Security (the Stasi) represents a mechanized, dispassionate ideal that strives to eliminate concerns about whatever may jeopardize the regime. To counter this security project, Donnersmarck presents us with characters who display a fundamentally human care that is instigated by governmental practices and yet ultimately works against state-oriented securitization and legitimation. Keywords: conspiracy theory, security theory, the ethics of care, Stasi, East Germany’s Ministry of State Security.

1. Conspiracy and Security

Conspiracies have always been the source of both insecurity and security. On the one hand, as countless cases of victims from across history would attest, plots designed and executed by conspiring groups have been responsible for robbing individuals of their psychological, social, economic, political and, ultimately, existential security. Indeed, to be the target of true conspiratorial machinations generally portends the gravest consequences. Certitude, assur- ance, and confidence – components of a general understanding of security – quickly fall apart, leaving the casualty, if he or she should survive, without any ground on which to stand. Anyone may be involved; no one is to be trusted. On the other hand, for survivors at any rate, the discovery that a conspiracy does in fact exist affords a certain epistemological security. The presence of domineer-

∗ John T. Hamilton, Department of Comparative Literature, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA 02138, USA; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 129-141 Ň© GESIS ing agents who steer events from behind the scenes, the network of invisible or inaccessible forces which influence the manifest course of our political and social lives, the chain of motives which point to a single, master intention – all bespeak an explanatory power that transmutes contingency into necessity, arbitrariness into rationality, objectless angst into identifiable fear. Meaningless violence is thereby granted meaning, however sinister. In brief, the possibility of a conspiracy redeems experience from pure absurdity. It permits those so inclined to peer beneath the surface of things, to arrive at some originating point, which can settle what would otherwise persist under frustrating ignorance. Those affected may see their lives rendered utterly insecure, but the establishment of a specific cause for their suffering or the suffering of others brings with it at the very least a securing rationale, an ability to locate the threat. These sense-making effects may account for the popularity of conspiracy theories in many of today’s cultures, including the most far-fetched and bizarre. After centuries of secularization have left us without recourse to ideas of fate or divine predestination, after historicism and moral relativism have falsified all teleological conceptions, after post-modernism has demolished once and for all the validity of our grands récits, we are faced with an explicatory vacuum that remains to be filled. A conspiracy implies that disparate events are actually connected, that random occurrences are not random at all but rather consciously orchestrated. Brian Keeley thus argues: “Conspiracy theorists are […] some of the last believers in an ordered universe. By supposing that current events are under the control of nefarious agents, conspiracy theories entail that such events are capable of being controlled” (Keeley 1999, 124, emphasis in text). The point is valid for wildly imagined as well as for brutally verifiable conspiracies: Attaching subjective agency to evil occurrences works to clarify motives and intentions, which afford a systematic, causal account that dispels the possibility of mere chance. Thus, and perhaps most importantly, insofar as they involve human actors, conspiracies – however malicious, damaging, and fatal – invariably humanize the world. Instead of discounting catastrophes as the work of indifferent nature or inscrutable “acts of God,” misfortune can be attributed to real or presumably real human authors. Moreover, this immanent, human aspect recalls human limitations. The powers that control our experiences are not absolute. However improbable in most cases, conspirators qua human allow at least some room for negotiation. Men are neither machines nor gods. The very fact that conspirators must act secretly reminds us that they are not omnipotent.1 The finite, human quality of conspiratorial organizations may serve as a further link between ideas of conspiracy and security. What makes this link ex-

1 This point is raised by Keeley (1999, 116).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 130 plicit, I argue, is the “care” or “concern” – the Latin cura – that inheres in the term securitas. Following the term’s etymology, securitas aims to place “concern or anxiety” (cura) off to the side (se-). Focused on the imminent future, cura consists in the intentionality that operates within human consciousness. Conspirators, no less than victims of conspiracy, express concerns that moti- vate the actions and thoughts that work to put those concerns to rest. Generally speaking, insecurity persists when all manners of concern (anxiety, fear, danger) linger; and security results when these areas of concern are brought under control. Conspiratorial plots and the theories that potential targets devote to disclosing them both strive for this control, for an ordering that would turn the imminent future into a matter of no concern. In this sense, the various security problems that emerge in connection with conspiracies hardly differ from security problems tout court.2 Such problems are based on the limitations humans must weigh in order to “take care” of anything. For this reason, security initiatives frequently depend on a variety of trans- individual mechanisms, from governmental institutions to technological equipment. This dependence can be understood as motivated by a desire to transcend human finitude. Accordingly, security projects aim to remove us from concern by positioning multiple agents, organizations, or devices to be concerned in our stead. Sovereign bodies, which occupy a privileged place above the populace, can arguably foresee and identify threats better than others. The structure that defines this relation between the securing agents and those secured differs little from that which allows gadgets, devices, and sensors to catch what human senses might miss. In both cases, individual care is relegated to persons or machines that are designed, technologically or ideologically, for accuracy, promising others a life that would be literally carefree. To this end, the secured subject relinquishes the responsibility of self-care by submitting to a higher authority, by obeying the will of a collective, or simply by trusting technology. This act of submission, which belongs to the broader system of trade-offs historically linked to security programs – for example, an individual’s willingness to surrender certain human rights for greater safety – paves the way for abuse. It is not simply a horrific irony that within totalitarian- minded regimes of the twentieth century bureaus explicitly founded to provide security have done so by instilling widespread insecurity among the populace: for example, the Soviet KGB (Ʉɨɦɢɬɟɬ ɝɨɫɭɞɚɪɫɬɜɟɧɧɨɣ ɛɟɡɨɩɚɫɧɨɫɬɢ, “Committee for State Security”), the Securitate police of communist Romania, and the notorious East German Stasi (Ministerium für Staatssicherheit, “Minis- try for State Security”). Nor can the tactics of these infamously abusive organs of the State be restricted to the darker moments of recent history. They are arguably always potentially at the ready wherever power is exercised over a

2 For a general account of the history of the term securitas, see Conze (1972-97); Schrimm- Heins (1991). I offer a full discussion of the word’s long semantic career in Hamilton (2013).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 131 population. As Marc Crépon argues, state apparatuses are explicitly charged with inspiring fear so as to maintain the need for security. By exposing the people to a permanent menace, to perpetual insecurity, such organizations legitimize their existence (Crépon 2008, 49). However, one could further interpret the path to abuse according to shifts of concern. What appears to be an abuse of power or flagrant legitimization is, at least on one level, the conversion from the care for the individual to the care for the state (cf. Kleinschmidt 2010, 9-23). Such techniques of securitization are dehumanizing when their concerns fall completely beyond the human. The greater irony, then, is that by instilling insecurity among the citizenry, by depriving its subjects of the privation of concern, agencies like the Stasi also allow their human subjects to continue to care, to remain human. Fear and anxiety – two perfectly adequate translations for cura – persist despite but also precisely because of totalitarian security measures. Moreover, overwhelmed by their own human finitude, which is the base cause of their insecurity (understood as an incapacity to deal definitively with their concerns), individuals targeted by governmental conspiracies may be impelled to form conspiracies of their own.

2. Human Care and the Security Machine

The dynamics between security, conspiracy, and human care comes to the fore in Florian Henckel von Donnersmarck’s internationally acclaimed film Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others, 2006), which unfolds a blatantly humanist tale beneath the dark and extensive shadow cast by the Stasi over the citizens of East Germany’s socialist state. Although the film has been criticized for its negligence of historical accuracy, it should not be faulted for presenting the Ministry for State Security as a vast conspiratorial network.3 Catherine Epstein provides a concise and telling account of what the organization involved: One hundred seventy-eight kilometers of archival material. Personal files on six million individuals. Forty million index cards. One million pictures and negatives. Thousands of human scents stored in glass jars. 91,015 full-time employees. 174,000 ‘unofficial’ informants. The highest surveillance rate (agents to population) in history. Husbands spying on wives. Colleagues snitching on co-workers. Informants posing as dissidents. State officials har- boring Red Army Faction terrorists. “Romeo” agents preying on hapless sec-

3 The most outspoken critic of the film’s attention to historical facts is Jens Gieseke, who has written extensively on the Stasi; see Gieseke (2008). For similar complaints, see Lindenberger (2008). In both essays, Donnersmarck’s liberties with facts are compared with the data and analysis presented in a significant body of work on the Ministry for State Security, including Gieseke’s own work in Gieseke (2000) and (2001).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 132 retaries. Commandos kidnapping alleged traitors from West Germany. Agent provocateurs infiltrating literary groups and church circles (Epstein 2004, 322). Administration of this magnitude betrays a desire for comprehensiveness, an indefatigable ambition to encompass an entire population within the kind of tight order that is the hallmark of conspiratorial networks. The unprecedented scale of this generously funded ministry clearly aimed to keep each individual under watch like a nightmarish shepherd who never lets a single sheep wander from his gaze. Yet, whereas the ecclesiastical tradition of pastoral care worked toward the security of the flock – toward removing the concern of wolfish peril – here, the Stasi, as its name underscores, strove exclusively for the security of the state (Staatssicherheit), assiduously working to eliminate the threat of subversive individuals.4 Despite their propagandistic claim to shield the populace from the fatal seductions of capitalism, in practice these ministers hoped to protect the state from the lure of individual difference. Consequently, in portraying the West as a site of greed, exploitation and violence, it intensified what was only implicit in the classic Plautine-Hobbesian warning: homo homini lupus (“man is a wolf to man”), which should now read homo civitati lupus (“man is a wolf to the state”).5 The Stasi’s astounding quantities of human resources therefore represented a will to transcend the human, to transform each individual into an efficacious cog in the state machine. Donnersmarck’s film persistently demonstrates how trans-individual, trans- human security procedures carried out in the name of the state are undermined when human concerns or insecurities come into consideration. A nearly Mani- chaean dualism pervades the plot: human care versus the mechanistic removal of care. The story centers on Gerd Wiesler (Ulrich Mühe), an interrogations expert, committed socialist and frighteningly effective Stasi officer. He has been assigned by his superior to monitor the day-to-day life of the renowned playwright Georg Dreyman (Sebastian Koch); and he initially performs this task with his usual discipline and clinically applied methods. At the film’s beginning we observe Wiesler as little more than a piece of some grand machine, a ruthless analyst with a keen sense for mendacity and prevarication, an efficient, self-effacing master of wiretapping, surveillance, and enhanced observation. Expressionless, Wiesler sits absolutely still, a paradigm of patience, attention, and vigilance, living up to his weasel name. Equipped with headphones and a characterless sports jacket buttoned to the neck, this balding man almost perfectly blends into the cold, drab grey of the radio transmitters that

4 In alluding to “pastoral care,” I am referring particularly to Michel Foucault’s genealogy of “governmentality” in Foucault (2007). 5 The famous phrase is from Plautus, Asinaria, 495, and was cited by Thomas Hobbes in his dedication to De Cive: “Epistle Dedicatory to the Right Honourable William Earl of Devon- shire,” in Hobbes (1998, 3-4).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 133 surround him. The flesh of the face, although somewhat ashen, provides the only hint of living color. The technological gear, which replicates Wiesler’s motionlessness, further compromises this already diminished depiction of the human subject. The electronic components – the sound meters, the knobs, the switches and faders – seem to have transformed the figure into yet another instrument of technology, as if the human form were but a prosthetic extension of the system. This technologization of the human is underscored by the bureaucratic, numerical moniker – HGW XX/7 – that chillingly supplants Wies- ler’s proper name. Especially when compared to those under surveillance, HGW XX/7 is an inhuman utensil, completely divorced from human community. The chiaroscuro of the film’s original poster emphasizes this point. Engulfed in darkness and shadow, Wiesler’s personhood fails to receive the light that illuminates Dreyman and his girlfriend Christa-Maria Sieland (Martina Ge- deck). The armor of Wiesler’s tightly buttoned jacket contrasts with the opened shirt collar of his victim wrapped in amorous embrace. HGW’s red fingerprint demonstrates how the agent is nothing outside the system that has inscribed him. Life – human life – belongs to others. As Eva Horn comments, “HGW’s loneliness, the fact that he, unlike his victims, has no life, reduces him to a mere listening device, sitting in the attic of the house at his listening post with headphones. He is a medium – and nothing but a medium” (Horn 2008, 140). Yet, while Wiesler listens to what is taking place in Dreyman’s apartment, we the viewers are of course also observing Wiesler. HGW may be a mere medium for the state’s security initiatives, but for us he is a man who has been or is still in the process of being medialized. The portrayal decisively complicates our anxiety about invasive security methods by turning to the fragile individuality of the security officer himself. The mechanizing, dehumanizing effects visible in the shot signal a loss that the film diligently strives to restitute. Throughout, the oscillating focus from the victimized object of surveillance to the dehuman- ized agent illustrates how security projects potentially entail deprivations for all involved, how both the object and subject of security stand to lose something vital. Machines are designed to operate indifferently, without any feelings, which – among human beings – tend to compromise the task at hand. As an officer of state security, Wiesler must suppress any such emotional disturbance. It is noteworthy that the history of the term securitas points to an analogous logic of suppression. In De officiis Cicero submits the following definition: Vacandum autem omni est animi perturbatione, cum cupiditate et metu, tum etiam aegritudine et voluptate animi et iracundia, ut tranquillitas animi et securitas adsit, quae affert cum constantiam, tum etiam dignitatem. (Off. 1.69) There must be freedom from every disturbance of the mind, not only rom desire and fear but also from distress, from the mind’s pleasure and anger, so

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 134 that there may be present the tranquility of the mind and the security which brings not only constancy but also dignity. Mindful of the etymological motivation of the word securitas, the list of trou- bling emotions – “desire, fear, distress, pleasure and anger” – should be regarded as the curae that threaten to agitate the mind and thereby rob it of its inner stability and integrity.6 As a mental condition resulting from elimination, Cice- ro’s securitas comes to characterize the “blessed life” (beata vita) lauded by Hellenistic philosophers. Accordingly, the Latin negating prefix (se-) corresponds to the Greek alpha-privative that distinguishes well-known ideals like Stoic apatheia (“the negation of disturbing emotions or pathƝ) and Epicurean ataraxia (“the negation of anything that aims to trouble [tarassein] the soul”). Historically, Cicero, like most of the Roman Stoics, link the calm state of securitas with a decisive withdrawal from the political forum, which is invariably depicted as a hotbed of overwhelming concerns (curae) and disruptive passions (pathƝ). By contrast, in the twentieth-century context of Das Leben der An- deren, we can see how the politicization of the state’s own self-securitization produces initiatives devised to quell any agitating attack from within. With this politicization comes a perversion that is especially discernible in the character of Wiesler: called upon by his government to preserve the stability of the regime, he becomes a parody of the dispassionate Stoic, no longer driven by the ideal of apatheia but rather mired in sheer apathy toward the human. Wiesler’s impassiveness, memorably performed by Mühe, plays out in a chilling scene early in the film, when he invites a prostitute into his somber, austere apartment. In his insightful reading, Gary Schmidt singles out this episode as exemplary of the dualism that he regards as operative throughout the plot, namely between feminine-coded corporeality and masculine-coded spirit- uality. Schmidt writes: “The film figuratively aligns the feminine with the state of fact (i.e., the material world) and the masculine with the mental/spiritual world deemed to transcend the former” (Schmidt 2009, 235). Although, as Schmidt brilliantly demonstrates, this tension motivates many of the screenplay’s characterizations, it fails to acknowledge the fundamental definition of the human itself as the conjunction of the body and soul – a conjunction that Wiesler must neglect so as to remain impassive to any corporeal or emotional impulses that would disturb his mission. In my view, the overriding tension that the film presses is rather the opposition between state-oriented security and the human-oriented cares that would undermine it. The peripeteia thus consists in redirecting Wiesler’s cura, not from the material to the spiritual but rather from the life of the state to the lives of other humans. The conversion begins as soon as Wiesler learns that Dreyman is being observed not because he is suspected of being a “subversive” but rather because

6 See also Cicero, Tusculanae Disputationes 5.2.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 135 the East German minister of culture is infatuated with and lusts after Sieland, who is living in the playwright’s home. The surveillance order, therefore, was not issued on the basis of concern for the regime’s security but instead on the basis of a wholly personal, sexually charged cura. Hardly a dangerous enemy of the state, Dreyman turns out to be an unsuspecting victim of conspiracy. As in a Roman tragedy, Dreyman is regarded by the state’s functionaries as an obstacle to be overcome, a rival who must be eliminated in order for the statesman to secure the object of his lascivious desire. The emergence of an all-too-human concern fatally disrupts the routinized procedures of the Stasi officer and essentially demechanizes Wiesler, who is suddenly and irreversibly recalled to his humanity.7 He slowly but decisively becomes emotionally attached to Dreyman and Sieland, fascinated by the couple’s movements, their conversations, their intimacy. Wiesler’s increasing fondness eventually redefines the objective of his security enterprise. No longer acting as a political instrument for the state, Wiesler begins to protect the private lives of Dreyman and Sieland. He takes the risk to meet Sieland personally, whose own insecurity has led her to prostitute herself out of fear that she would otherwise ruin her acting career, first by sleeping with Bruno Hempf (Thomas Thieme), the repulsive Minister of Culture, and later by becoming an “unofficial informant” (an Inoffizieller Mitarbeiter, or IM) for the state. Wies- ler meanwhile is shown to be less and less enthralled to the system that he once upheld so vigorously. Posing as a fan, Wiesler suggests to Sieland that her talent requires no patron. In appreciation and with a rare moment of sincerity, she thanks the stranger and tells him that he is “a good person” (ein guter Mensch). Subsequently, back at his listening post, Wiesler is pleased to hear her swear to Dreyman that she will no longer keep her sordid appointments with Hempf. It is as a human – as a good Mensch – that Wiesler is able to touch the lives of others and thereby begin to live himself.

3. Humanization

The state that cares only for itself can never provide security for anyone or for anything other than itself. Its security program exclusively removes the concerns that threaten its own legitimacy and power. Consequently, it effectively spreads insecurity among the populace. Sieland, too, must secure her own career by desecuring others. HGW opts out of this program altogether by becoming human, by becoming Gerd Wiesler, who ultimately learns to care for

7 It is precisely this humanization of the Stasi officer that many German critics, mindful of the horrors of the East German regime, found especially questionable; and this has been a fairly common critique among German scholars working on the film. For a brief overview, see Dueck (2008).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 136 other humans and thereby provide them with safety. Dreyman, who is known to be a devoted communist, believes at first that he has nothing to fear. His own disillusionment, which parallels Wiesler’s, occurs during his birthday party with friends. This event broaches the uncomfortable issue of blacklisting artists and writers. Dreyman’s colleague, the theater director Albert Jerska (Volkmar Kleinert), who has suffered dearly from being blacklisted, hands over his birthday present to Dreyman: a piano score of an etude entitled “Sonata for the Good Man” (Sonate vom Guten Menschen). Wiesler is thereby brought into even closer proximity with his surveillance subject, because both have now been identified explicitly by the same human quality. Wiesler’s concern for Dreyman is therefore in a sense concern for himself. Days later, when Dreyman learns that Jerska has hanged himself, his anger and frustration impel him to write an article on suicide rates in East Germany, figures that are tightly sup- pressed by the state, again as a security measure. The plan is to publish the piece anonymously in the West German periodical Der Spiegel. Upon being baptized as a good man by the distraught Jerska, Dreyman could regard his birthday as a rebirth into humanity. At the piano, he plays through Jerska’s sonata, a rehearsal for the ode that he will compose on a typewriter’s keyboard and present as a memorial to his dead friend. To be human is to be mortal, to be prey to contingencies beyond one’s control. And Dreyman correspondingly takes necessary precautions before setting himself to work on the dangerous article. Fully aware that every typewriter in East Germany is registered with the state, he will write the piece on a miniature model that had been smuggled in from the West and is hidden beneath the floorboards. Furthermore, to confirm that his apartment is not bugged, he and his friends devise a ruse, pretending to be engaged in a smuggling plot. In other words, Dreyman stages a fake conspiracy in order to conspire securely against the state that has conspired against him. Wiesler refrains from contacting the authorities, which attests to his sympathy as well as convinces Dreyman (false- ly) that he is not under watch. The playwright can proceed with his subversive writing relatively without concern, thanks of course to his unknown but effective protector. Wiesler is still a security agent, yet now an altogether “good” one – one who in fact provides security rather than promulgate insecurity and collective paranoia on behalf of a brutally inhuman regime. The apathy that ideally characterizes all instruments of mediation is overcome by increasing passion. Wiesler’s official reports are no longer accurate because his cura is now directed far from state matters. The disrupting emergence of strong, impassioned sentiment marks the replacement of political calculability by classical aesthetic feeling. Wiesler picks up a volume of Brecht’s poetry that he discovers on Dreyman’s desk and closely reads it through. The poem that is singled out in the film is Brecht’s well-known lyric “Erinnerung an die Marie A.,” which dates from 1920 but was first published in the Hauspostille collection of 1927. The camera closes in on Wiesler’s face

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 137 as he reads the text, yet in voiceover, it is Dreyman who is heard enunciating the lines: Und fragst du mich, was mit der Liebe sei? So sag ich dir: Ich kann mich nicht erinnern. Und doch, gewiß, ich weiß schon, was du meinst Doch ihr Gesicht, das weiß ich wirklich nimmer Ich weiß nur mehr: Ich küsste es dereinst.

And should you ask me, what’s become of love? I’ll tell you: I cannot remember. And yet, certainly, I do know what you mean But her face, I really know no longer I only know now: I kissed it once. In addition to reinforcing the sympathetic relationship between Dreyman and Wiesler, between perpetrator and victim, the poem evokes the themes of transi- ence, fleeting desire, and failed memory that define the human condition. The rapid alternation between knowing and not knowing is reflected in the repetition of forms of wissen (to know): gewiß, ich weiß schon … das weiß ich wirklich nimmer / Ich weiß nur mehr. The desire for certainty – Gewißheit, a concept closely linked to security – is both motivated and frustrated by the erstwhile lover’s concern. Moreover, these lines from Brecht’s “breviary” (Hauspostille) decidedly diverge from the conventional image of Brecht as someone who is politically engaged, ironic, and cynical. In the utterly private scene of Wiesler’s reading, the poetry serves to depoliticize art and is made to speak instead to transcendent and universal values, values that would appear to contradict the historical materialist vision associated with Brecht.8 To be sure, the sympathetic relationship between Dreyman and Wiesler – that is, between a type of “actor” and “spectator” – militates against Brecht’s entire concept of epic theater, based as it is on breaking the illusion that would foster such identi- fications. These refunctionalizations of Brecht are fairly evident in the persistent references to “the good person” (der gute Mensch) – in Sieland’s remark to Wiesler and in Jerska’s piano etude, Sonate für einen guten Menschen, which at the film’s end will serve as the title of Dreyman’s memoir dedicated to agent “HGW XX/7.” These clear allusions to Der gute Mensch von Sezuan both reinforce and disprove the lesson of Brecht’s parable: on the one hand, as both Shen Te and Wiesler come to realize, in order to remain good, one must adopt masks and be willing to dissemble in a society that will ultimately abuse moral integrity; on the other hand, and contrary to Brecht’s argument, it is only in the post-Wende sphere of capitalist liberalism that such goodness can in fact flour- ish.

8 On this point, see Stein (2008, 575); and Schmidt (2009, 243-4).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 138 In Das Leben der Anderen, humanization is consistently linked to a liberal view that poses as an apolitical position. Statements from the director corrobo- rate this claim. In an interview with John Esther, Donnersmarck explains, “I really don’t believe there is such a thing as politics. It’s all about individuals. […] So I tried to focus on individual psychology in the film. Rather than tell a political story, I show how people make the politics and how that affects people.” The director continues by recommending that one should “strike a balance between principle and feeling […] between Vladimir Lenin and John Lennon” (Esther 2007, 40). Metaphors of balancing commonly surface in discussions of public security: One does not have to conjure an entirely Orwellian scenario to find how security’s promise to eliminate fear or provide stability may encroach upon, compromise, or severely limit human freedom. Indeed, suspicions about exchanging liberty for security course through world history and are perhaps most popularly expressed in the over-quoted line long attributed to Benjamin Franklin: “Those who would give up essential liberty to purchase a little temporary safety, deserve neither liberty nor safety.”9 As we might expect, this intimation reaches back to classical Roman literature, for example in Livy’s account of the early Republic or in Horace’s lyric reflections on the dynamics of life within the burgeoning Empire. Throughout this long history, the cura about existential threats, which state security claims to exercise, is supplanted by a cura about the limitations and trade-offs required for the former. In Das Leben der Anderen both species of cura characterize the human condition and hence a humanist ideal. Although it would be difficult – but not altogether impossible – to interpret Don- nersmarck’s film within a purely Stoic context, it does appear to be sufficiently clear that the concerns exhibited by the story’s individuals (Wiesler, Dreyman, Sieland, among others) are designated by the passions or pathƝ that characterize what the filmmaker regards to be human. In the interview cited above, it is the impassioned music of John Lennon (perhaps as well as his deeply personal forays into political activism) that represents the basic, universal human feelings that must be summoned to balance against the rigorous, political program of Vladimir Lenin. Donnersmarck seems to regard this struggle between musi- cal sentiment and ideological tenacity as central to the film’s conception. In another interview, he divulges that it was the old story, first related by Maxim Gorky, about Lenin’s love for Beethoven’s aptly named Appassionata piano sonata that supplied the initial inspiration for the screenplay. According to

9 This sentence first occurs as a quote from a message to the governor from the Pennsylvania Assembly in Richard Jackson’s An Historical Review of the Constitution and Government of Pennsylvania, which was published in London by Franklin in 1759, p. 289. It was also used as the motto for the book’s title page. A later variant, also set in quotation marks, is found among Franklin’s notes for an address to the Pennsylvania Assembly in February 1775, published in Franklin (1818-19, 1: 517).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 139 Gorky, Lenin confessed, “I don’t want to listen to it because it makes me want to stroke people’s heads, and I have to smash those heads to bring the revolution to them.” Donnersmarck adds: “I suddenly had this image in my mind of a person sitting in a depressing room with earphones on his head and listening into what he supposes is the enemy of the state and the enemy of his ideas, and what he is really hearing is beautiful music that touches him” (Riding 2007). However, the optimism expressed here is qualified by the fact that at the film’s end, the two protagonists, Dreyman and Wiesler, fail to come into personal contact, even though the Wall has come down, even though the Stasi has been dissolved and the files are now a matter of public record. Nonetheless, the distance maintained between the two figures can also be regarded as the constitutive gap that is prerequisite for care. After the mechanism of State Security has been broken apart, the bonds of humanity are once again reinforced by the cura that joins us by keeping us separate. In Germany, the controversy sparked by this film essentially turned on the complaint that a Stasi officer was not depicted with sufficient cruelty. This presumed failure arguably denied today’s audience of a particular pleasure, namely to compare our present society with the recent past and thereby conclude that we are not as bad as people back then. In contrast, Donnersmarck appears to lodge a serious warning: we better hold on to our humanity, lest it disappears entirely into the warm bath of compla- cency. Conspiracies against the population no less than individuals’ conspiracies against them will never accomplish a life that is carefree – which of course saves it from never becoming careless.

References

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 141 The Black International Conspiracy as Security Dispositive in the Netherlands, 1880-1900

∗ Beatrice de Graaf

Abstract: »Die Verschwörung der ‘Schwarzen Internationale’ als Sicherheits- dispositiv in den Niederlanden, 1880-1900«. In this paper we introduce the fight against anarchism at the end of the 19th century as a security dispositive. An analysis of the emergence of the dispositive of the Black International conspiracy and the rise of new modes of governance in the wake of the fight against violent anarchism in the Netherlands is presented as a bottom-up process of securitization, enabled by two remarkable episodes of anarchist activities in the Netherlands in 1894 and 1895-1898. Regional prosecutors and police commissioners capitalized on this (foreign) anarchist threat to instigate large-scale police reforms in terms of bureaucratization, standardization and centralization. New technologies of imagination, imported from abroad, helped to advance these processes of securitization and modernization. Keywords: anarchism, Black International, police modernization, anthropometric data retention, Bertillonage.

1. Introduction

In this paper we introduce the fight against anarchism at the end of the 19th century as a security dispositive.1 The manifestation and imagination of a ‘Black International’ conspiracy marked an acceleration in time and space, a rise of new techniques, scientific methods, perspectives and a political constellation, that led to a heterogeneous assemblage of discursive and material elements resulting from this new threat perception (cf. De Graaf 2012). We will present here an analysis of the emergence of the dispositive of the Black Inter- national and the rise of new modes of governance in the wake of the fight against violent anarchism. Anarchist attacks were not merely figments of the imagination, as will be elaborated below. But we will argue that after 1880 the police and security forces were much better equipped and organized to perceive and identify such a

∗ Beatrice de Graaf, Centre for Terrorism and Counterterrorism, Leiden University, P.O. Box 13228 / 2501 EE The Hague, Netherlands; [email protected]. 1 This article has been published in an older version in the Dutch Journal for History, De Graaf 2012.

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 142-165 Ň© GESIS transnational and evasive phenomenon as an international conspiracy. Tele- graph, telephone, new communication and transportation connections and developments in the field of biometrical data retention enabled Amsterdam police officers to exchange information with Russian Ochrana agents about Russian anarchists visiting the Netherlands. The Netherlands were, admittedly, much less targeted by anarchist activists than France, the Russian Empire, Italy, the United States or Germany. No heads of state or ministers were smitten. Archival records, however, do reveal a number of reports and incidents regarding anarchist violence and visiting anarchists from abroad. The Dutch socialist leader Ferdinand Domela Nieuwenhuis pointed in his autobiography of 1910 to the spurious contacts he had with (violent) anarchist comrades from Russia or Germany (Domela Nieuwenhuis 1910, 365-77). Not much has been written on Dutch experiences with anarchist violence. Literature on the socialist movement does mention its clashes with anarchist ideology and activists, but remains silent on the violent aspects and international contacts between fugitive dynamitards in the Netherlands and well- known socialists such as Domela Nieuwenhuis (Charité 1972; Bos 2001; Perry 1994; Perry 1983; Vliegen 1905/1921; Vliegen 1924-38). Even a recent biog- raphy on Domela Nieuwenhuis only touches upon his contacts in the anarchist scene in passing, and avoids discussing his ambivalent attitude towards political violence (Stutje 2012, 327-9). In this paper, some first findings are presented on the struggle against anarchist violence in the Netherlands around the end of the 19th century. The hypothesis is that this struggle should not merely be described as a reaction to concrete incidents and attacks, but should also be considered an expression of administrative and political agenda-setting, closely connected to the ambition to create a modern, centralized and standardized police force, with corresponding mission statements and security ideas. Here, we will use the dispositive frame discussed in the introduction to analyze the Black Interna- tional conspiracy, by using the five conceptual elements mentioned in the introduction (securitizing actors, referent subject, referent object, ICT techniques and modes of governance), with an additional final note on the visualization of security. We will do so by presenting new material taken from the Dutch Na- tional Archives on some remarkable instances of anti-anarchist activities in the Kingdom of the Netherlands.

2. A ‘World-Wide Conspiracy’: Actors & Threat Definition

The anarchist violence that became manifest between 1880 and 1914 is often considered the ‘first wave’ of modern terrorism. In numerous anthologies and monographs on the history of terrorism, the Russian narodniki, French nihilists and Italian anarchists are identified as representing a ‘Black International’

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 143 wave of terrorist violence (Rapoport 2004, 46-73). This global threat of a ‘Black International’ conspiracy was triggered by individual anarchists, unwit- tingly assisted by social activists and groups through leaflets and magazines, who blew up public sites, targeted heads of state with dynamite or stabbed them to death, and threatened to unleash all kinds of destructive actions as ‘propaganda of the deed’. During the years between 1880 and 1914 over 500 people were wounded and around 160 persons, mostly high officials and state representatives, fell victim to anarchist attacks (leaving Russia aside): amongst them Czar Alexander II, King Umberto of Italy, the US President William McKinley, three prime ministers, numerous other ministers, police officials and politicians. Popular Empress Elisabeth of Austria (‘Sissi’) was stabbed to death by the Italian anarchist Luigi Lucheni in 1898. Some also consider the attack on the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand on 28 June 1914 an anarchist attack. The ‘world-wide conspiracy’ was the specter invoked by the anarchists in their writings to describe their millenarian and apocalyptical utopia (or dysto- pia) on the one hand and to boost their small number on the other. Anarchists operated new, very visible and fearsome technologies of destruction, such as dynamite and the automobile, as means of transport and as vehicle-borne im- provised explosive device avant la lettre (Davis 2007). Anarchist associations gratefully exploited new possibilities of communicating and traveling around the world much more quickly than before. Western anarchists assisted Russian colleagues in their attempts to target the Czar. A Polish anarchist took his cue to attack the Czar from a newspaper report on the impending state visit of the Russian head of state to France. Russian nihilist Sergey Nechaev seized the opportunity of cheaper printing techniques to smuggle, translate and disseminate his Revolutionary Catechism abroad (Butterworth 2010). His anarchist colleague Bakunin issued his handful of disciples with four-digit membership cards, to suggest a constituency of thousands of adherents to his World Revolu- tionary Alliance. And the French League of Nihilists disseminated a leaflet in 1881, bragging about poisoning hundreds of bourgeois families by dispersing toxins into the Paris water supply (idem 181-2). Anarchists did in fact conspire and commit attacks. The extent to which they inflated these conspiracies by means of the modern media and by playing into popular fears was, however, larger than life. The projection of their fantasies of destruction and psychological terror was met with similarly outrageous reactions of public and political abhorrence. These reactions were symbolic of a new, late 19th-century discourse on (in)security and chaos. A new dispositive of security and governance emerged, brought into existence by, among other things, new technological inventions and adaptations that were appropriated by the anarchists and their opponents alike. The specter of the anarchist threat was thus immediately taken over by the police and security agencies to frame these disparate incidents and attacks as a

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 144 real international and homogeneous threat. The ‘conspiracy’ dispositive increasingly became a favorite strategy to frame social problems, to discredit socialist opposition and mobilize support for the expansion and professionalization of police and security forces. Conspiracy was a fruit of modernism: it combined reactionary fears of chaos and socialism with an over-reliance on and faith in technological and managerial progress and engineering. The idea of the Black International moreover provided operational clues to the nascent police and security centers. Even seemingly harmless meetings, such as completely legal gatherings of social democratic parties and associations, could be framed as a decoy, concealing deceitful activities and illegal conspiracies to overthrow the government. A conspiracy is by its nature progressive and exponential: it suggests a dark number of participants, a transnational outreach, international targets and a widely projected end goal (e.g. world power). Such reasoning naturally legiti- mizes metastasizing security measures and efforts. Anarchists might have dealt the first blow, but police and security forces soon took over, especially those operating without any democratic or legal constraints, such as the Czarist security agency, the Ochrana. Their activities mirrored their threat perceptions. Russian officers and noblemen even established an anti-anarchist conspiracy of their own, the so-called ‘Holy Brotherhood’, designed to wage war on the anarchists by all means, including terrorist attacks (Butterworth 2011, 177). The idea of a Black International as an organized, international and homogeneous threat was invigorated by sub-state actors in the police and security domain. The rationale of national security led to an unwillingness to establish checks and balances in the adoption of the rules governing executive secrecy in this regard. The fight against anarchism enhanced the reliance on the Weberian rationale for secrecy, namely that bureaucracies seek refuge in secrecy for reasons of convenience and of efficiency. Concealment in fact insulated bureaucracies from criticism and interference by the nascent European democracies of the late 19th century; it permitted them to cut corners, apply new, far- reaching measures and to usurp budgets with no questions being asked (Weber 1946; Simmel 1906). This became especially clear in the case of the fugitive anarchist suspect, Baron von Ungern-Sternberg, whose story reads like a 19th-century crime novel, but has been constructed based on archival research.

3. The Case of Baron von Ungern-Sternberg – The First Terrorist Experience in the Netherlands

In the Netherlands, the dispositive of the Black International was not predomi- nant in the Dutch media, but even here, the anarchist threat gave rise to substantial changes in administrative and political security practices. New technol-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 145 ogies of imagination entered the Dutch bureaucratic domain, triggering and enabling new modes of governance and security measures. Due to the rise of financial markets and the diamond industry, cities like Amsterdam experienced an economical high after 1871, followed by a corresponding upsurge of urban security and criminality problems. Public disturbances and riots increased, thus putting issues of public order and security high on the local and political agenda, advanced by political parties that were founded around that same period (De Rooy et al. 2011, 298-321).2 Regarding these security concerns, it was not the anarchists but the organized socialists that represented the largest threat to the established order (Charité 1972; Bos 2001). Riots and revolts, such as the Amsterdam ‘Eel Revolt’ of 1886, where 26 people died after the police tried to suppress a public spectacle, demonstrated that local authorities had to deal with new kinds of challenges and tensions (De Rooy 1971; Van der Wal 2000, 172-3; Bos 2001, 207-21). Police reports spoke of ‘red flags’ and subversive socialists roaming the streets.3 In 1887, a new article was added to the constitution, allowing the king to impose martial law and to declare a state of emergency ‘in order to maintain external and international security’. Civil government would be suspended and military rule would be deployed instead, allowing the army to intervene at the king’s command (Van Zuijlen 2008, 66).4 This constitutional amendment legalized already existing practices of local army interventions at any mayor’s request, thereby normalizing and standardizing this instrument of force. In March 1888, it was deployed against worker strikes in the northern parts of the country, in the Frisian and Groninger turf areas, after the Social Democrat League (Sociaal- Democratische Bond, SDB) had incited the poorly-paid workers to riot. Ferdi- nand Domela Nieuwenhuis, the SDB’s notorious leader, was elected into Par- liament only a few months later. Fear of socialist revolt and violent class struggle subsequently increased (Domela Nieuwenhuis 1910, 99, 122, 132, 442).5 Violent outbursts were still the exception, but Parliament had nevertheless felt the need to prohibit the transport and stockpiling of explosives ‘with malicious intent’ by royal decree in 1885.6 On 5 December 1888, on the occasion of the Dutch national celebration of Santa Claus, the mayor, police commander

2 Cf. ‘Een terugblik’, De Nederlandsche Politiegids, 3 (1888), No. 36. 3 Cf. Amsterdam City Archives, 5225, inv. no. 759, A30532000159, telegram no. 164, bureau sectie 5 aan hoofdbureau, 25 July 1886, 7.56 uur namiddag,; A30532000139, telegram no. 148, bureau sectie 5 aan hoofdbureau, 25 July 1886, 5.50 uur namiddag. With thanks to Bernard Bremmer. 4 . 5 F. Domela Nieuwenhuis denies in his autobiography any violent behavior on behalf of the Dutch socialists and anarchists; they were no ‘dynamite men’. He discards allegations of this nature by minister Heemskerk as ‘mendacious’. However, he does admit his admiration for foreign anarchists such as Elysée Reclus and Peter Kropotkin, whose texts he translated in 1885. 6 Koninklijk Besluit (Royal Decree), 15 October 1885, Staatsblad , No. 187.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 146 and public prosecutor of Amsterdam received ‘hellish machines’ – explosive devices, intended to blow up after they were unwrapped. The true content of the surprise packages was, however, detected before they exploded.7 From the archives, it becomes clear that itinerant anarchists remained a threat in the years that followed. Police commissioners declared their worries over socialist meetings usurped by anarchists, or misused to mobilize workers to riot. They reported on ‘strangers’ within their area, purportedly preparing all kinds of subversive activities. Generally, local police officers would take care of such threats on their own, together with the mayor and the local authorities. The Ministry of Justice would only be alerted in case of urgent prosecutorial relevance. However, according to local and regional police commissioners and public prosecutors, anarchism was now reaching a stage of national urgency.8 The year 1894 became a decisive point in the development of anti-anarchist activities, both in Western Europe and in the Netherlands. On February 22, the French anarchist Emile Henry carried out an attack on the café Terminus in Paris, killing five citizens. His trial commenced two months later, triggering a series of solidarity actions by fellow anarchists all over Europe. Even in the United States, demonstrations on Henry’s behalf were organized. In the mining town of Liège in Belgium, where recent mine accidents had fuelled unrest amongst the coal workers, anarchists seized their opportunity. On 1 May 1894 a heavy bomb blew up the Saint Jacob Church in the city centre, followed by another heavy explosion two days later. The second attack severely wounded the local G. P. Renson, although it had been intended for the local court president who went by the same name; the anarchists had deposited their explosives at the wrong address. The perpetrators were caught a few days later, only for the police to discover that they had been lured and paid by a stranger, who had moved into town a few months earlier and who travelled under the name of Baron Ernest von Ungern-Sternberg. The investigating judge issued a warrant order and sent out pictures and personal description of the suspected baron.9 Von Ungern, however, managed to escape to the Netherlands, very conveniently leaving a note in his hotel room with the names of eight Germans, two Dutchmen and two Belgians who had allegedly assisted him in his activities (Butterworth 2010, 338-45).10 The Bel- gian prosecutor informed his Dutch colleagues about the investigations. On 31 May, the prosecutor of Den Bosch, ‘jonkheer’ (squire) Theodore Serraris, notified the minister of justice, W. van der Kaay, that the suspected perpetrator

7 ‘Uit de Hoofdstad’, in: De Nederlandsche Politiegids, Vol. 3 (1888), No. 37. 8 National Archive, The Hague/Netherlands (NA), pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file No. 8, Letter from the Public Prosecutor of Amsterdam to the Minister of Justice, 14 June 1894. 9 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, Cabinet du Juge d’Instruction/Arrondissement de Liège, ‘Signalement et Portrait’, Luik, 20 May 1894. 10 Butterworth did not conduct research in the Netherlands and does not mention the Von Sternberg affair.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 147 of an anarchist attack, one ‘Ungern von Sternberg’, had fled to Maastricht and had “repeatedly met with the notorious and very dangerous socialist Vliegen, publisher and printer of De Volkstribuun [people’s tribune],” a socialist magazine.11 Willem Vliegen was a well-known propagandist and typographer in Maastricht and would become co-founder of the Dutch Social Democratic Party, the SDAP, later in August that year. Serraris received permission to put Vliegen under surveillance and to interrogate him and his socialist comrades (Perry 1994; De Jonge 1979). Von Ungern-Sternberg had in the meantime found refuge at the Russian consulate, which was not as suprising as it might seem, since the fake baron was an agent of the Russian secret police, the Ochrana. And his real name was Cyprien Jagolkovsky. He worked under instructions from his superior Rach- kovsky, who operated from the Russian embassy in Paris and had organized a series of anarchist attacks in western capitals, to reinforce suspicions of an international anarchist conspiracy. Commissioned by the Ochrana, Jagolkovsky had paid a number of European anarchists to commit attacks, with the Liège bombings being one of the most successful operations. At the Dutch consulate, Jagolkovsky however ran into probably the only Russian diplomat who was not involved in the Ochrana conspiracy and did not want to condone it either, once Jagolkovsky informed him of his true nature. He did not want to protect the agent provocateur and reported him to the Amsterdam police. There, police officials had already discovered that the anarchist suspect was not a member of the respectable Baltic aristocratic family Von Unger-Sternberg. Jagolkovsky had, however, escaped once again, and fled back to his mother country (But- terworth 2010, 342). The exact details of the Ochrana plot were not clear at that time. Only in January 1895, during the trial against Von Ungern-Sternberg’s Belgian accomplices, did vague rumors regarding a possible sting operation surface. The renowned head of the Amsterdam criminal investigation, Christiaan Batelt, testified that the ‘fake baron’ had intermittently lived with the anarchist Guérin under the name Stein and had reported himself to the Russian consul as a ‘secret agent’.12 The consul, however, refused to appear in court to testify and Russia refused to extradite Jagolkovsky or respond to the allegations.13 The affair had severe consequences for the Dutch socialists. By the efforts of Serraris and his fellow prosecutors, they were immediately implicated in the perceived threat of anarchist violence. One of the two Dutchmen mentioned in

11 NA, Archive Ministry of Justice 1876-1914, pl. no. 2.09.05, inv. no. 6486, file no. 2, 4 June 1894, Letters from Serraris to the Minister of Justice, 31 May 1894 and 2 June 1894. 12 Batelt (1846-1919) had established a photographic service within the Amsterdam police force in 1883 and was a renowned expert in forensic and investigative matters. 13 Zie: ‘België’, De Baanbreker, 5 January 1895, vol. 58; De Baanbreker, 26 January 1895, vol. 61.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 148 Von Sternberg’s note was Vliegen. Von Sternberg had indeed visited him three times between 29 April and 2 May (just before and after the attacks). Accord- ing to the police, Vliegen and someone called ‘Pieters’ were “dangerous individuals”, who were in “in close contact with their Belgian party colleagues” and were suspected of “importing dynamite from Belgium”.14 The police assumed that Von Sternberg had printed his ‘threatening manifests’ at Vliegen’s office, and repeatedly searched his private and company address. A letter by Von Sternberg was found, of which Vliegen vehemently denied any knowledge, asserting that “Sternberg, who visited him three times, had planted the letter on him to make him unhappy” (a quite realistic assumption). Apart from Vliegen and Pieters, the judicial authorities also held other socialists under surveillance who were allegedly part of the anarchist conspiracy. In this manner, the purported plot was extended progressively. Prosecutors travelled between Maastricht, Liège, Brussels and Amsterdam, harassing their socialist suspects.15 Here, the Ochrana had at least achieved some success: For Serraris, the Von Ungern case was a very welcome opportunity to lobby for more security measures and to convince the minister of justice of the purported anarchist threat. Other prosecutors came to his assistance as well. The prosecutor of The Hague reported the retrieval of a recipe for the making of a nitroglycerine bomb in May 1894, via a ‘secret informer’ within anarchist circles.16 Another prosecutor informed the minister about a box with dynamite, located in a train wagon coming in from Germany.17 Both findings proved harmless (the recipe did not work and the purported dynamite turned out to be a hoax), but nevertheless inspired the pyrotechnical department of the War cabinet to draft a manual “to deal with hellish machines.”18

4. The Queen on Tour – New Impulses for the Antiterrorist Dispositive in 1895

This episode spilled over into the next year 1895, when Queen Regent Emma von Waldeck and Pyrmont took her daughter, crown princess Wilhelmina, on a

14 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 7, Serraris to the minister, 11 June 1894, Den Bosch. 15 NA, pl. no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 2, Serraris to the minister, 2 June 1894, Den Bosch; file no. 9, letter Serraris, 14 June 1894. 16 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 10, exchange between the regional police and the Minister of Justice, May 22 - June 13, 1894. 17 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 25, letter from the Amsterdam Prosecutor General to the Minister of Justice, 20 July 1894; Letter from the Public Prosecutor of Haarlem to the minister, 27 July 1894. 18 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6442, no. D36, letter from the Minister of Justice to the Minister of War, 3 August 1894. With thanks to Jos Smeets.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 149 number of high-profile city visits to warm the restless and rioting population of the southern, predominantly Catholic parts of the country towards the (Protestant) house of Orange. With the murder of the French prime minister in 1894 in his mind, the zealous prosecutor from the south, Theodore Serraris, was wary of anarchist attacks; a fear worsened by the steady influx of anarchist fugitives from France who were on the run from the increasingly repressive measures in their home country.19 The Von Ungern-Sternberg affair exacerbat- ed suspicions about the involvement of well-known Dutch social democrats in international anarchist conspiracies. In May 1895, the regent Emma and 14-year old princess Wilhelmina embarked on their first railroad trip. The tour induced a number of new security arrangements, most notably a special security escort, intended to deter and to fend off socialists and anarchists. The regent, however, admonished them not to “resort into a brute show of force towards a public expressing its warm sentiments for the Royal Family, or, regarding a foreign head of state, its interest in this head of state’s personality.” 20 On May 15 and 16, the royal pair visited the city of Den Bosch. Mayor Van der Does de Willebois, wary of anarchists and socialists, summoned plain-clothed detectives to patrol as journalists amongst the onlookers (Biemans 2007). On May 25, the royal party went further to Tilburg, the largest city of the province of Brabant, and from there to Maas- tricht. Regarding the high-profile security risks involved, prosecutor Serraris tried to sack socialist railway employees in advance and raided socialist headquarters once again. Soon afterwards, Vliegen’s printing company went down in flames, under suspect circumstances.21 In preparation of her majesty’s visit to the South, the minister of justice moreover put anarchists in the Netherlands, Belgium and Germany under surveillance, in cooperation with the Prussian and Belgian authorities. Two Prussian and four Belgian secret agents were added to the team of Dutch investigating officers during this royal summer.22 These concrete measures aside, the Dutch minister of justice remained reluctant to adopt new laws similar to the French, Russian or Prussian ones. He kept to his liberal position and fended off both his prosecutor Serraris and the Prus- sian envoy, who demanded stricter laws. In December 1895, the Prussian envoy sent a request, asking the minister to adopt laws against dissemination and glorification of socialist and anarchist standpoints by meetings, writings or

19 Letter from Prosecutor General Serraris to the minister, 11 May 1895. Ministry of Justice, invno. 2.09.05, no. 6487. NA. 20 Decree, signed by the Minister of War and Her Majesty Wilhelmina, 28 February 1895, file no. 27; letter from the Minister of Justice to the Prosecutor General of Den Bosch, 5 April 1895, file no. 3. Pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6487, NA. 21 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6487, file no. 9, exchange between the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the Prosecutor General of Den Bosch, 18 May 1895; file no. 3, exchange between the Minister of Justice and the Prosecutor General of Den Bosch, 4 June 1895. 22 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6487, file no. 12, Serraris to the minister, 17 June 1895.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 150 other means. According to the Prussian police, Dutch socialists and anarchists, who enjoyed free rein in publishing and disseminating their riotous ideas in the Netherlands, also ventured into neighboring Germany, thereby causing “the security of […] friendly states to be endangered, and public order and quiet to be disrupted”. Minister Van der Kaay, however, was not susceptible to this demand for solidarity. Socialist “dissemination has taken place freely for years now, by virtue of the constitutionally guaranteed freedom of speech for anyone to ventilate his ideas.” The minister did not see any merit in “cultivating martyrs” or “sowing the seed of resentment” amongst the social democrats, thereby “nourishing that party”. Experience taught us the efficacy of this line of conduct, because it stands without doubt that social democrat turmoils in the Netherlands have not merely waned both in numbers and relevance for some years now, but the influence of their leaders on the population has decreased considerably as well, and interest in the movement itself is gradually declining.23 According to the minister, incidental measures were one thing, but ordering large-scale repressive laws something else altogether. Compared with Germa- ny, socialism was on the retreat in the Netherlands, thus, ignoring them and not providing them with more frameworks of injustice seemed the most effective approach. To be sure, the minister was no free spirit but a staunch liberal conservative. He acquiesced in stepping up surveillance measures, deploying plain-clothed detectives at border towns and stations, keeping socialists and anarchists under control and ordering all aliens to report within 24 hours of their arrival in the Netherlands. A number of foreigners were immediately expelled as a result. Compared to other countries, the fight against the Black International in the Netherlands was a second-tier dispositive, but it still did trigger public attention and morphed into new techniques of dealing with foreigners and socialists after 1894.

5. Public Morality under Attack: The Referent Object Expands

In most European countries, the projected anarchist threat was legitimized by pointing to the values at stake. Not only official representatives but urban life as such, public norms and values were perceived as being threatened. These ideas went hand in glove with the shift in security objectives in late 19th- century Europe. The liberal vision of a rather marginal notion of state security

23 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6488, file no. 6, 8 January 1896, exchange between the Minister of Justice, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and the German envoy, 18 December 1895.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 151 gave way to maximalist and very modernist concepts of public order and public security for the state, its authorities and the population. Security, in the broad- est sense of the word, became an ordering principle in society; general safety and security measures served to promote nationalist and moral values (Te Velde 1992, 205). The dispositive of the Black International served these purposes. Anarchists not only threatened the lives of monarchs and presidents, but disrupted daily life, economic business and undermined the public spirit and moral order. The expansion of the ‘referent object’ of the anarchist threat thus mirrored the expanding projecting of the conspiring circles. Parallel to the rise of socialism, mechanisms of control and the hold over society by security measures grew stronger. Article 3 of the new constitution of 1887 commanded the government to offer protection to goods, traffic and persons within the Dutch territory. For the liberals in parliament, this new emphasis on “the concern for the peace and security of the state” marked the beginning of a new regime of preventative and regulating security considerations. Security policy was made subject to the ordering principles of nationalism, liberalism and public decency. For Dutch standards, an unprecedented amount of new laws, measures and administrative practices were developed, especially in the security domain (Te Velde 1992, 205). Compared to other European countries this expansion was kept in rein, partly by the lack of successful attacks (no lethal anarchist attacks took place), and partly by other considerations of a more liberal, economical or even historical kind. Dutch representatives and commentators reminded their audiences, for example, of the consequences of a repressive haute police, when the Dutch suffered “under Napoleon’s iron rod and multiple spies”.24 Until late in the 19th century, the overriding ideas on police activities pertained to a rather passive and reactive maintenance of public order and peace. The socialist movement and the industrial proletariat were less developed and counted fewer members than elsewhere in Europe. Central security agencies similar to those in the Austrian empire, Prussia or France did not exist in the Netherlands. However, even considering this relatively low profile on security matters, the anarchists’ objectives and society’s vulnerability were extended considerably after 1894. An influential police journal wrote about “attacks against public morality”, inspired by the “revolt against authority”, enabled and disseminated through “the media”.25 This expansion of the referent object inevitably dictated the corresponding countering logics and measures. Serraris received permission to appoint “secret police officers”, “familiar with the French and German languages and trained to monitor the activities and intentions of the many social democrats and anarchists that lived or temporarily stayed in that area, amongst

24 ‘Geheime Uitgaven’, I, II, in: De Nederlandsche Politiegids, vol. 5 (1890), no. 51, 52. 25 ‘Schadelijke openbaarmaking van misdrijven’, in: De Nederlandsche Politiegids, vol. 9 (December 1894), no. 108.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 152 them numerous Belgians and Germans”.26 This measure granted Serraris vast opportunities to investigate, monitor and register any foreigner he deemed suspect. Since the attacks in Belgium and France, especially after the murder of Prime Minister Sadi Carnot by Italian anarchist Sante Caserio on 25 June 1894, public awareness, both in the media and in society, of ‘dangerous individuals’ and ‘strange chaps’ had increased.27 “Spring and summer have seen plenty of shocking incidents inside and outside our borders,” De Nederlandsche Poli- tiegids warned its readers. “Dynamiters don’t need to correspond with each other; they leave that to the press, in the full knowledge that this queen of the earth has irresistible means at her disposal to make them heard and seen.”28 According to the Politiegids, the dynamitards were not only after public and political dignitaries, but were subverting the overall public and moral order: “And our country? […] Then a number of shocking attacks against public morality occurred. However different they might be, it seemed as if they were connected by a single thread.” This ‘thread’ consisted of a revolt against authority as such, and the abuse of the media to glorify such immoral deeds.29 To state a situation of moral panic would be an exaggeration of public knowledge and the dissemination of newspapers within the population at that time. However, alarmed by newspaper stories, a number of perceptive citizens felt the urge to report the sight of suspicious-looking strangers to the police. A medical doctor in Amsterdam remembered having treated the suspected Baron Von Ungern-Sternberg in his office on 15 March 1894.30 In July 1894, the minister of justice received a number of reports on two ‘suspicious Spaniards’ who had been spotted in a ‘coffee house’, discussing plans to attack the heads of state in Spain. The police was keen to follow up on these reports; warrants were issued, and wanted descriptions were spread. Through the Foreign Office, the implicated countries were informed as well, leading to personal expressions of gratitude by the Spanish crown in this instance.31 The Ministry of Justice moreover received numerous requests for extradition or description from Rus- sia, Belgium and Germany and generally tried to meet these demands dutifully. The post and telegraph offices enabled a quick exchange of letters.

26 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 22. Exchange between the Minister of Justice and the Prosecutor General of Amsterdam, 25 September 1894. 27 Cf. Anarchist 7, 21 July 1894, no. 62; ‘Aanranding van ’t Gezag’, De Nederlandsche Poli- tiegids 9, July 1894, no. 103. 28 ‘Schadelijke openbaarmaking van misdrijven’, De Nederlandsche Politiegids 9, December 1894, no. 108. 29 Ibidem. 30 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 4, letter from the Minister of Foreign Affairs (FA) to the Minister of Justice, 29 June 1894, including the medical doctor’s report; Idem, 16 July 1894. 31 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, file no. 19, letter from the Minister of Justice to the FA, 6 July 1894; Envoy Madrid to FA, 21 July 1894.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 153 In general, oversight on foreigners was intensified. Regional prosecutors reported the number of ‘strangers’ in their area to the minister on a regular basis.32 If such a foreigner was caught without a license, explaining and legitimizing his residence in the country, he was immediately deported abroad. The fear of the anarchist stranger thus prompted all kinds of measures, justified by the prosecutors with reference to the threat of an anarchist attack in the Nether- lands. Society’s vulnerability to subversion was accentuated, not only by subversive acts of violence, but also by subversive thoughts. On 24 January 1895, Serraris sent a number of proposals to the minister suggesting criminalizing insults and incitement and introducing censorship on the media. I for one do not share the views of those who are in favor of allowing that party [the social democrat party, BdG] free rein, of letting that illness “drive itself out” – thus applying the old “laissez faire, laissez passer” rule to it as well’. The media in particular were to blame: ‘The press has been the most powerful weapon wielded by the socialists for propaganda purposes so far […] There are those who would like to have the newspaper tax reintroduced.33 This attempt at criminalizing the whole of the social movement was a bridge too far to the liking of the minister. “Each case has to be judged on its own” Minister Van der Kaay (still a classical liberal) scribbled in the margin of Ser- raris’ notes. The policy of leniency and indulgence had “been applied successfully in the northern provinces. Precisely because we have let them get on with it, the meetings of these associations [the socialist and anarchist, BdG] are only being attended by a handful of young men.” Although the minister still felt that constitutional rights should not be infringed upon generically, he started to move in Serraris’ direction. He admitted that the Criminal Code could profit from one amendment or another. In particular, Serraris’ proposals for heavier punishment for insulting authorities spoke to the minister. In December 1894, he issued a ban on the Social Democrat League. The times were indeed changing.34

6. The Emergence of New ICT Techniques

Without the rise of new information, communication and transport methods (ICT), it would have been very hard for the anarchist threat to be securitized as

32 Cf. NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6486, Fourth quarterly report by the Prosecutor General in Leeuwarden to the Minister of Justice, 19 January 1893, p. 12-13. 33 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6487, file no. 18, Serraris to Minister of Justice (with notes from the minister), 24 January 1895. 34 The Social Democrat League (SDB) was dissolved but reestablished and continued under the name Socialist League.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 154 a world-wide conspiracy (the Black International) at all. Anarchists published their threats in newspapers, traveled by steamships and contacted each other by telegraph. Newspapers connected strikes, workers’ riots and communist meetings to attacks by Russian nihilists and French anarchists. Incidents in Europe, Australia and the United States were related to attacks in Egypt, China and Japan. Fear soared high; in 1898 the German emperor Wilhelm II cancelled a state visit to Egypt because of rumors about Italian anarchists conspiring to attack him there. The global threat of the Black International played into the vignette of the “new political era, experimental, positive, scientific” (Butter- worth 2010, 46). The downside to the era of enormous progress and positivist faith in science and technology was the idea that villains would be able to deploy these scientific findings as well – to their own malicious intents. At the same time, new modes of transport, telecommunication and technological means also played into the hands of the police forces, who were now able to ‘connect the dots’ and frame the incidents into one looming specter of the anarchist Black International – a specter that was never substantiated by evidence, only evoked in the minds and fantasies of the contemporaries. One brilliant example of such imagination can be found in G.K. Chesterton’s novel The Man Who Was Thursday from 1908, in which the high council of anarchists in the end turns out to be set up by Scotland Yard. Good and evil over- lapped, “so that each man fighting for order may be as brave and good a man as the dynamiter. [...] We have descended into hell” (Chesterton 2008[1908], 172- 3). Police forces in Europe joined forces and implemented the system of Bertil- lonage, developed around 1882 by the French police prefect Alphonse Bertil- lon. So-called portraits parlés registered a series of bio-anthropological facial and bodily traits and measures, based on a system of numbers and codes. This ‘scientific’ method was informed by the notion that a deviational, criminal nature manifested itself in facial features and other anthropometric characteristics. The system of Bertillonage went hand in glove with the social Darwinist and eugenic ideas on criminal degeneration as a genetic phenomenon. It had the advantage that it systematized crime-scene photography and developed a standardized identification system based on physical measurements. This an- thropometrical data could be transmitted at short notice to fellow police forces abroad, in order to identify and arrest fugitive criminals or suspects – which was something of a revolution, at least on paper, since most of the suspects had still managed to keep their identity hidden until that time, or were able to escape with forged identity cards. New shipping lines and railroad connections furthermore enabled the photographs taken to be dispatched in a much quicker pace as well (Fijnaut 2007, 283; Jäger 2006, 196-221). The operational techniques of Bertillonage, the metric photography and the international warrant posters not only served to identify suspects or to improve prosecution, but they also symbolized the state of modernity to which national

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 155 security forces aspired. Within the context of increasing bilateral and transnational cooperation, these modern applications were a ticket to the circle of the – supposedly – most advanced and professionalized forces. Hence, police forces in the Netherlands also pressed their minister to tune into the new scientific insights and international developments. The Bertillonage system had already been adopted in France, and subsequently conquered Germany and the United Kingdom (Lignian 1894, 987-96). Due to the ambitious police commissioner of Rotterdam, Willem Voormolen, the system also gained a foothold in the Neth- erlands. In February 1896, the Parisian police officer was invited to the Nether- lands and received a royal decoration, together with Voormolen himself, from the Dutch queen regent Emma.35 By royal decree, the Bertillon system was now also applied within the Dutch police and judicial forces.36 In this fashion, the Department of Justice embraced ‘modern’ scientific insights from the young discipline of criminology and thus signaled its attempt to professionalize and centralize the Dutch police system. A central system of registration was adopted, and in the following years a central investigative force was created and new detectives were trained. Although no new anarchist incident was reported after 1898, the new measures were still legitimized by pointing to the necessity of infiltrating the anarchist movement and the prevention of attacks. These reforms and novelties lifted the Dutch police to the status of international players. Dutch police forces and the newly constituted criminal investigators went along in collecting material on suspect anarchists, exchanging details and photographs with colleagues over the world, including colleagues from authoritarian police forces such as the Ochrana. International collaboration between European police forces, including the Dutch, profited from these trends in bureaucratization and professionalization – in compliance with Mathieu Deflem’s hypothesis on the close connection between more autonomy in terms of bureaucratization and professionalization and more international contacts (Deflem 2002). This internationalization was cemented in 1898, when the first international anti-anarchist conference was organized, three weeks after the murder of Empress Elisabeth. Here, participating states agreed on a definition of anarchist crimes, accepted the system of Bertillonage internationally, promised to assist each other with rendition and information requests, and declared that they would implement the death penalty. Not all countries ratified the treaty, but the meeting heralded the beginning

35 ‘Het Bertillonage-stelsel’, De Nederlandsche Politiegids 10, May 1895, no. 113; NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6488, exchange between the Minister of Justice, the FA and the Cabinet of the Queen Regent, 22 January 1896, no. 12; 12 February, no. 5; 15 February, no. 7; 19 Feb- ruary no. 11. 36 KB, Staatsblad, 22 February 1896. Cf. ‘Antropometrisch stelsel’, Nieuws van de Dag, 3 Janua- ry 1896.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 156 of organized international police cooperation and can be seen as the forerunner of Interpol (Fijnaut 2007, 283; Jäger 2006, 196-221). The system of Bertillonage soon gave way to the British invention of dacty- loscopy, but the idea was the same. Without these international communication possibilities, police agencies from Amsterdam to Moscow would not have been able to invoke and identify an internationally defined, purported global anarchist network. Although in reality not many anarchists were caught by these systems, they served to centralize, professionalize and standardize police approaches and heralded new, modernized security regimes throughout Europe (De Graaf 2012). In 1903, Voormolen made another study trip to London, Paris and Berlin, to sustain bilateral cooperation on fighting anarchism and to learn more about new theories on ‘errant villains’, radicals and anarchists operating ‘hellish machines’. From London Voormolen brought back the technique of dactylo- scopy, again single-handedly modernizing the Dutch police force. He also reported proudly on his exchange with Prussian colleagues, to whom he had been able to present new anarchist photographs: 300 to the Dresden Police and 91 to his Berlin colleagues.37 The conspiracy dispositive thus both thrived on and legitimized the rise and implementation of new ICT techniques.

7. The Rise of New Governance Techniques

The technology that enabled police and justice forces on a global scale to identify, exchange and disseminate their threat perception also fed into the creation of new modes of international cooperation and the establishment of formal measures of international exchange of anarchist identities between police and judicial services. As we already noted, not only the anarchists were duped by these techniques. The new technological devices were especially geared to register, identify and disseminate suspect aliens as such. Notification orders, surveillance measures and border checks followed from that. Even in the Netherlands, where no new laws infringing on freedom of speech were adopted, executive power expanded into new police and investigative centers. Both the Von Stern- berg affair in 1894 and – even more so – the royal tour to the southern part of the country in 1895 opened a window of opportunity for new modes of governance. Inspired by police reforms in the United Kingdom, public prosecutors and police commissioners initiated a transformation in law enforcement and securi-

37 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 6514, file 2 October 1905, no. 7, Report by Voormolen to the Minister of Justice, 30 September 1903.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 157 ty thinking: attention shifted from repression to prevention, and from reactive ‘crime fighting’ to proactive control of public life and order – to the extent that some scholars even speak of the emergence of a “social intervention state” (De Rooy 1979). Especially the chief police commissioners in the main capitals of the Netherlands were active in pushing forward these developments (Meer- shoek 2006, 106). Rotterdam’s commissioner Voormolen went on tour to various cities abroad, to study how other police forces coped with new trends in crime and security management. In 1898, he established the Fellowship of Chief Commissioners and Commissioners of the Netherlands Police Forces, in order to better calibrate and coordinate organization and methods of the judicial police throughout the country and to build a lobby for modernization. For the first meeting, he invited experts from abroad to report on their findings and share their experiences (Smeets 2011, 96-7). Such meetings indeed contributed to a broader proliferation of the new attitudes and ideas on the mission and aim of the police forces. The modes of governance correspondingly changed: Concern about vagran- cy and begging and attention towards misfits, outsiders and marginal figures disrupting public order and quiet gave way to a preventative regulation of that order on the base of risk calculation measures (Meershoek 2006, 114-20; Smeets 2011, 44-8), such as the deployment of plain-clothed detectives at border stations or at ‘hot spots’, surveillance of anarchists and the registration of foreigners. The Marechaussee (Royal Dutch Constabulary) was tasked with maintaining public order, law enforcement, and safeguarding the main roads in small municipalities and in the southern provinces of Limburg and North Bra- bant. Although militarily organized, the Marechaussee was part of the national police (rijkspolitie) and was tasked to patrol in border towns and during festivi- ties, if necessary also in disguise, to identify suspect strangers. For criminal investigators and detectives, a higher level of education became obligatory. In 1896, parliament decided to establish a ‘Secret Police Force’ (korps geheime politie), and in March 1897, the first federal police investigators were appointed: trained and tasked to carry out professional prosecution and investigation duties, equipped with special investigative means, and embedded within the Office of the Public Prosecution (Smeets 2011, 30-5; Van de Bunt and Niemei- jer 1997). Prosecution of socialists and anarchists tripled (cf. Heering 1994, 37). The coronation of Royal Princess Wilhelmina, on 31 August 1898, gave rise to additional concerns and corresponding measures. When prosecutors and commissioners suggested the adoption of a new law, regulating the supervision of foreigners, anarchists and other potentially dangerous individuals, enough public and political support had accrued. A parliamentary committee (the ‘Commission-Kist’), established in 1898, publicly and officially proclaimed anarchism a danger to the public order. The committee, set up by the liberal minister of justice Cort van der Linden, was tasked to investigate law enforce-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 158 ment improvements and police reforms. The threat of anarchism was explicitly used as an argument in favor of restructuring the national police organization: “out of concern for society, regarding anarchist movements and attacks, that not only threaten the state but also target society as a whole”, a nationalized and centralized police force was necessary, according to the committee.38 Only such a professional and national police force would be able to fend off the most important threats to national security: anarchism (from within and outside the Netherlands), foreigners, revolutionaries of other dangerous groups, threats to the Royal Family (Smeets 2006, 106).39 The committee thus not only expanded the referent subject of the threat, it also inflated the referent object: the assumed targets being threatened ranged from the Royal Family to the social fabric as such. Although the organizational and administrative conclusions on large-scale police reforms were not adopted, the framing of the threat was accepted and reiterated in parliamentary debate and in the media. Hence, the imagination of the anarchist threat and alarmist language were now infused in the parliamentary-political discourse – and no longer confined to behind-the-scenes deliberations within the police and judiciary bureaucracies. Even the Pierson Administration, known for its commitment to advancing social justice, embraced the new security considerations. Liberal Minister of Justice Pieter Cort van der Linden suggested expanding article 131 (criminal incitement) with the sentence “incitement to disobey legally issued administrative orders, to disobey legal prescriptions, to violently subvert public order”, because “in the face of the most dangerous incitement, intended to overthrow the existing social order, the authorities more often than not are helpless”. He also advocated the introduction of a new article 266, intended to further restrict freedom of speech, turning the Netherlands – in the words of socialist leader Domela Nieuwenhuis – into “another Mecklenburg-Russia”. Until that time, leveling criticisms at the authorities had been admissible; only insults towards concrete individuals were penalized. That freedom would now be restricted, according to the minister (cf. Domela Nieuwenhuis 1910, 491).40 With these new declarations and legal securitizations, the struggle against anarchism gained much more public and political salience. In 1900, the national Police Magazine (Politiegids) first referred to the existence of a Black Inter- national, quoting some phrases from the French Journal des Débats:

38 Commissie-Kist, Verslag der commissie door den minister van Justitie benoemd om advies uit te brengen nopens de maatregelen welke tot verbetering van de politie kunnen strekken (The Hague 1901), chapter 1. Cited at Fijnaut 2007: 325. 39 NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 3004, letter from the Minister of Justice to Kist, Franken and Voormolen, 6 October 1898, no. 113; ‘De Politie en ’t Anarchisme’, De Nederlandsche Poli- tiegids, 15, September 1900, no. 177. 40 Cf. ‘Binnenland’, Algemeen Handelsblad, 2 October 1900.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 159 An international secret association exists in the world, with a criminal intent; it is time for the police forces of all countries to try to identify this organization’s practices without delay and to mutually encourage one another to exchange information and investigation results. They do so already in numerous instances, they should do so always.41 Given the empirical lack of real violent anarchists in the Netherlands, mostly socialists suffered from these new modes of control and surveillance. Enraged, socialist leader and representative P. J. Troelstra briefed the Dutch parliament on the activities of the Amsterdam Criminal Investigation Department, which had assembled an archive of 1500 photographic records on anarchists and socialists and did not feel any inhibition in sharing these with the Russian secret police, the Ochrana. On the occasion of an international socialist congress in the Dutch capital, Amsterdam detectives had not hesitated in dispatching pictures and information regarding the conference’s participants to their Czarist colleagues (Fijnaut 2007, 354).42 In sum, although the modes of governance enabled and legitimized by the Dutch conspiracy dispositive did differ from the ones enacted by authoritarian regimes (in Prussia or Czarist Russia), and constitutional infringements and public censorship were kept in close rein on an administrative and executive level, the levels of control, repression, surveillance and monitoring activities were raised considerably.

8. A Final Note: The Importance of Imagining Security

Concluding, with constitutional limitations in place, the security dispositive of the fight against the Black International also gained ground in the Netherlands from 1893 onwards. Although the Netherlands lacked a thoroughly centralized and authoritarian regime wielding power, metropolitan police commissioners and regional prosecution offices, most notably from the offices in the border regions, managed to prioritize anarchism as a security threat. Until 1894, this process of bottom-up securitization unfolded behind the scenes, within the police and judicial departments. At this stage, expansion of security measures and infringements on constitutional liberties were clearly inhibited by judicial and administrative constraints. Judges were not prepared to support political prosecution practices. Mayors claimed their local authority and rejected interventions by the Royal Marechaussee.43 The Ministry of Warfare resisted widespread deployment of the military police, out of financial constraints. The

41 ‘De Politie en ’t Anarchisme’, De Nederlandsche Politiegids, 15, September 1900, no. 177. 42 Acts of Parliament (Handelingen der Tweede Kamer), 1904-1906, 36th meeting, 20 Decem- ber 1904, 885-891. 43 Cf. NA, pl.no. 2.09.05, inv.no. 2919, letter from the Association of Mayors and Town Clerks in Friesland to the Minister of Justice, 23 August 1893, no. 44.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 160 minister of justice moreover refused to spend money on an autonomous bomb squad or explosives research laboratory, and was also rather stingy in appoint- ing more police informers and detectives. Within the Dutch system, there was still no place for deploying agents provocateurs as the Ochrana did. Nor was there enough political support for the implementation of a ‘thought police’, total censorship or ideologically motivated prosecution. However, news about attacks abroad, in France, Germany or Russia, reached the Dutch coffee tables through all kinds of new information and communication channels from 1894 onwards. And through the bottom-up processes of securitization within the regional police and judiciary offices, the fight against the Black International climbed high on the Dutch political agenda as well. ‘Technologies of imagination’ transformed the faraway, imagined threat of anarchist violence into a vivid and material danger. Police commissioners assembled and disseminated wanted posters and pictures of fugitive anarchists, portraits parlés (identity cards containing anthropometric data) within the country and abroad, and assisted their foreign police colleagues when possible. Newspapers, telegraph, telephone and coffee house rumors contributed to this process of public dissemination and securitization of the global anarchist threat. Incidents in the Netherlands remained limited to the Von Ungern-Sternberg affair, some hoaxes and heightened anarchist activity in writing and organization surrounding the royal visit in the summer of 1895. Notwithstanding this lack of ‘real’ anarchist attacks, the potential threat of the Black International captured both the public and political space and legitimized an acceleration of the already ongoing processes of modernization and professionalization of the police forces. From 1894/1895 (after the Von Sternberg affair and the crowning of Wilhelmina), classical liberal administrations launched the first attempts to restrict constitutional liberties. They supported the inflation of both the referent subject and the referent object of the threat: progressively, socialists, outsiders and foreigners were targeted by the new modes of security governance, and society’s vulnerability was accentuated. Deportation of foreigners, permanent surveillance and the deployment of plain-clothed detectives as a preventative and proactive measure became standard procedure in cases of perceived urgency and threat. In the media as in official parliamentary reports (for example by the Commission-Kist), the anarchist threat was equated with a subversion of public order and morality as such. In sum, even within a relatively peaceful and quiet country such as the Netherlands, the dispositive of the Black International provided local and national authorities with leverage to impose new modes of control and governance on society – through the use of imagination and the techniques to operationalize imagined threats.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 161 Some last words on the nexus between conspiracy dispositives and the new technologies of imagination.44 Conspiracies need imagination; the above- mentioned expansion of the referent subject, referent object and the rise of new modes of governance thrived on the visualization of danger and threat by new ICT means of the late 19th century. Security rests on the basis of certain images of danger, threat and destruction. In complexly networked societies, security needs to be communicated in order to exist. Images of security are therefore crucial elements of modern security dispositives. By means of new ‘technologies of imagination’, the conspiracy dispositive invoked an invisible enemy. For the police forces, the conspiracy concept nourished a diffuse conglomerate of all kinds of heterogeneous threats: ranging from socialists, reformists, communists to the handful of real anarchists. For them, the conspiracy dispositive also offered an operational anchor. Underneath perfectly legal gatherings or activities, a subversive plot might be metastasizing; its members, supporters, geographical extension and explosive or apocalyptical means were beyond measurement. But not beyond imagination, and here the technologies of imagination came in useful as means of rendering the imagined threat as positively measurable and visible as possible: by presenting pictures, anthropometric coordinates, at least the suggestion of scientific policing and accurate prosecut- ing was upheld. These imaginaries of threat and insecurity are intricately connected to more general modern social imaginaries (Taylor 2004). Much work has been done on the ways in which the nation is an imagined community (Anderson 1991) and in which societies involve an ‘imaginary constitution’ (Castoriadis 1987). Both Ricoeur (1986) and Taylor (2004) underscore the importance of general imaginaries in forming everyday life, providing meaning and order to social practice. (Gaonkar 2002, 4). More specifically, social imagination consists of representations (in the form of definitions, attributions, pictures, statistics, charts, graphs, etc.) that claim to describe (parts of) society. Thematizations of security, especially when the threat is framed as a conspiracy, take shape in the face of threats and dangers that cannot be fully known, measured or calculated, but that nonetheless involve various images of security that are closely connected to larger risk and security imaginaries. These thematizations are produced by the so-called “ocular centers of social life, geared specifically to the production of images of risk and security”. Ocu- lar centers can be defined in a general sense as institutions specialized in visualizing, representing or imagining social life (Schinkel 2011). Ocular centers have proliferated in modern times in a number of fields, ranging from monitoring agencies in the fields of capital flows and quality management to evaluating institutions in health care and education, from audit agencies to often suprana-

44 I owe these thoughts on ‘technologies of imagination’ to Willem Schinkel.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 162 tional regulatory bodies and regimes of supervision or surveillance. Examples of ocular centers in the security realm are risk databases, border monitoring agencies and policy bodies. This is exactly what happened in the case of the Black International, where the securitization of the anarchist threat led to the construction of conspiracy theories. The techniques of visualization in the case of the Black International were manifold: the specter of the anarchist throwing bombs was multiplied by leaflets, in newspapers, distributed over the world. Most wanted posters were disseminated. Photographs depicting anarchists in various disguises and portraits parlés became popular collector’s items in police circles. New ocular centers (the international police conference of Rome 1898, new investigative agencies, registration centers) were erected. The performative dimensions of the risk and security images that these centers disseminated in terms of legitimation and practices, in politics and policy, were enormous: they legitimized the mobilization of police forces, raids, searches of potential anarchist hideouts. The anarchist suspect became an overwhelming public scare in many countries, leading to the increase of preventative measures against strangers, socialists or communists as such (notification orders, expulsion orders, surveillance measures, rendition agreements, country bans, restrictions on the freedom of speech, association). Although not all European countries went as far as the repressive laws and measures adopted by the Czarist regime – the Dutch government operated very carefully not to provide additional ammunition to the socialists, or turn them into martyrs –, the Black International nevertheless tied into larger, more encompassing discourses and risk and security imaginaries of the 19th-century civilized world. The social imagination of the anarchist scare was played out against the image of good citizenship in the context of late 19th-century norms and values. Thus, it accelerated the politics of disciplining chaos and radical opposition, legitimized new surveillance and intelligence techniques, prompted a metastasizing intelligence bureaucracy and launched the first international standardization and organization of police and intelligence cooperation. The dispositive of the Black International was legitimized by the construction of a conspiratorial view of disparate anarchist incidents, visualized by all kinds of new ICT methods, and fed into new modes of governance that laid the ground- work for modern-day centralized, technology-driven, national security regimes.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 164 Simmel, G. 1906. The Sociology of Secrecy and of Secret Societies. The American Journal of Sociology 11 (4): 441-498. Smeets, Jos 2011. Marius van Houten. Marechaussee en diplomaat. Amsterdam: Boom. Stutje, Jan Willem. 2012. Ferdinand Domela Nieuwenhuis. Een romantische revo- lutionair. Amsterdam: Atlas/Contact. Taylor, C. 2004. Modern Social Imaginaries. Durham: Duke University Press. Te Velde, H. 1992. Gemeenschapszin en plichtsbesef. Liberalisme en nationalisme in Nederland, 1870-1918. The Hague: Sdu uitgevers. Van de Bunt, H. G., and E. Niemeijer, eds. 1997. Honderd jaar Rijksrecherche. Terugblik en toekomst. The Hague: Sdu uitgevers. Van der Wal, Ronald. 2000. Of Geweld zal worden gebruikt. Militaire bijstand bij de handhaving en het herstel van de openbare orde 1840-1920. Amsterdam: Uit- geverij Verloren Van Zuijlen, R. W. 2008. Veiligheid als opdracht. Een onderzoek naar veiligheid als fundamenteel recht en als positieve verplichting van de staat in het licht van de politietaak tot strafrechtelijke rechtshandhaving. Nijmegen: Wolf Legal Pub- lishers. Vliegen, Willem. 1905-1921. De dageraad der volksbevrijding. Schetsen en tafree- len uit de socialistische beweging in Nederland. 2 vols. Amsterdam: Brochuren- handel der S.D.A.P. Vliegen, Willem. 1924-1938. Die onze kracht ontwaken deed. Geschiedenis der sociaaldemocratische arbeiderspartij in Nederland gedurende de eerste 25 jaren van haar bestaan. 3 vols. Amsterdam: De Arbeiderspers. Weber, M. 1946. Bureaucracy. In Essays in Sociology, ed. H. H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills, 196-224. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 165 The Perpetual Adversary. How Dutch Security Services Perceived Communism (1918-1989)

∗ Constant Willem Hijzen

Abstract: »Der ewige Gegner. Die Wahrnehmung des Kommunismus durch den Niederländischen Geheimdienst (1918-1989)«. For more than eighty years, Dutch security services perceived communism as the ultimate threat to national security. From its inception, the anticommunist threat perceptions contained references to foreign, possible, potential, and ideological elements of the communist threat. This put the activities of Dutch communists in a different light. Although for a long time there were well-grounded reasons to do so, we find that there were periods when the actual threatening character of Dutch communism decreased. However, the security services did not decrease their surveillance activities vis-à-vis this ‘red menace’. To account for this discrepancy, we use insights from securitization theory, organizational studies, and intelligence studies to deconstruct threat perceptions. We find that whenever actually threatening events, such as the revolutionary threat of 1918 or the World Wars, became part of a distant past, the security services emphasized the symbolic and potential nature of the communist threat. The symbolic character of the threat, institutionalized and continually reinforced by processes of cognitive bias, thus accounted for its unchanging threatening character. Only through external intervention have these perceptions changed. Keywords: security services, threat perceptions, securitization, communism, conspiracy, organization theory, cognitive closure.

1. Introduction

“A cunning plot,” a former employee of the Dutch security service said, referring to the collapse of world communism in the early 1990s. He had dedicated his whole working life to opposing communism. Communists “were that smart.” The fall of communism therefore “certainly seemed to be a plot,” the former intelligence officer reasoned, because it benefited the communists in two ways. On the one hand, communists were now free to come to and move around in the West. They would have no problems bringing in weaponry. On the other hand, in the former, in the former communist countries in Central and

∗ Constant Willem Hijzen, Centre for Terrorism and Counterterrorism, Institute for History, Leiden University, Postbus 13228, 2501 EE The Hague, Netherlands; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 166-199 Ň© GESIS Eastern Europe, chaos would follow after the collapse of communism. So after a couple of years, still according to the former intelligence officer, people would start longing for communism again and then communists would be able to seize power again, this time supported by a veritable majority of the population.1 This view of communism would not have raised many eyebrows, say, fifty years earlier, when the Cold War started. But in 1998, when many of the former communist regimes had already successfully transformed into capitalist and democratic state systems and had exchanged their political elites correspondingly, these words appeared to be somewhat outdated (Best, Gebauer and Salheiser 2012). However, the comment was not just an individual aberration; on an organizational level, anticommunist threat perceptions proved to be persistent too. Even when other security issues such as student radicalism and international and domestic terrorism came to the fore, during the 1960s and 1970s, and politicians and activist organizations pushed the security service to end its interference with domestic communist organizations, the leading cadre of the security service stuck to its anticommunist position. The service held that since the essence of communism did not change, „the policy of the security service remained unchanged.” Opposing this threat, the respective heads of service adamantly decided, should therefore be maintained as the cardinal responsibility of the security service.2 How should we account for this unflinching belief in the threatening nature of communism? “Beginning from the known,” as one of the fundamentals of the intelligence profession prescribes, the historiography on Dutch intelligence and security paints us a picture of a security service unwilling or unable to change in principle. Keeping a certain distance to socio-political actors in the environment because of its secret character, the Dutch security service maintained its autonomy in determining threats too. In its own perception, the security service thought it was better equipped to assess the danger of communism than ministers or members of parliament (De Valk 1996, 11, 44; Engelen 2007, 69-70, 236). This observation helps us to grasp a very important contributing factor to the continuity in threat perceptions, i.e. organizational dynamics and logics, but

1 Interview with an anonymous former employee of Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst in a radio documentary, ‘Going back on track: serving the country’, VPRO radio documentary, broadcast 15th November 1998; Het Parool, 17. October 1998, ‘That good Cold War: interviews with six employees of the Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst’. 2 E.g. Aurora meeting 3rd May 1965 [the so-called Aurora meetings were meetings between the head of the security service and his managers of the different departments, held two or three times a week to discuss current affairs]; Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlicht- ingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Report of meeting between head of the BVD and the minister of Interior Affairs, 8th June 1967 and 12th January 1982.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 167 it fails to shed light on the question of why organizational logics dictate this particular outcome. In this article we argue that although the security services did perceive and analyze alterations within international and domestic communism, they were not able or willing to ‘desecuritize’ the communist threat. In this argument we will stress the importance of symbolic and organizational influences on the way threat perceptions evolved over time and argue that ‘desecuritization’ as an internal decision was not an option. Only external intervention could fundamentally alter these perceptions.

1.1 Theoretical Orientation The specter of worldwide communism is pre-eminently associated with the realm of conspiracy theories. Conspiracies can be, as stated in the introduction to this HSR Special Issue by Beatrice de Graaf and Cornel Zwierlein, part of security and conspiracy ‘dispositives’. Dispositives, according to Michel Fou- cault who coined the concept, are ‘heterogeneous ensembles’ of ‘discourses, institutions, architectural forms, regulatory decisions, laws, administrative measures’ and many other things (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). As the aim of this article is to understand the continuity in anticommunist threat perceptions, it would stretch too far to look at all facets of a supposed anticommunist ‘security dispositive’, let alone a communist ‘conspiracy dispositive’ (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue; Balzacq 2011; Buzan, Waever and De Wilde 1998, 23). Instead we ask the question of why the Dutch security services considered communism to be a menace for such a long time, even though its character changed in important respects. To put it more precisely we ask which dimensions of the communist threat changed over the years, why other aspects never changed at all, and why the security service for such a long period of time never decided to terminate the operational and analytical intelligence activities in communist circles. A possible answer to this question would be that communism was threatening all those years. Some authors follow this line of reasoning and emphasize the strong ties between Western communist parties and ‘Moscow’ (Guiat 2003, 176). The communist parties’ mere existence thus justified authorities worrying and security services opposing the communist parties.3 Although we agree that in certain periods communism seemed to be a grave threat, we assume that nothing is essentially a menace. People interpret events, groups, and situations as threatening and construct representations of that threat (Balzacq 2011, 2; Hansen 2006, 25-8). To understand why communism was an enduring threat in

3 Right-wing politicians and thinkers in particular emphasized the continued threatening character of communist organizations, e.g. Frits Bolkestein (1998).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 168 the eyes of Dutch security services over time, we have to understand the way these threat perceptions came about and how they altered throughout the decades of the twentieth century. To do this, we look at insights from securitization theory, organization theory, and intelligence studies. On the one hand, these theories offer insights in the genesis of security policies and the role of threat perceptions. In addition, they describe organizational mechanisms, which can help us find the causes for (resistance to) change in threat perceptions and security policies within the security services. On the other hand, these insights provide analytical tools to deconstruct the Dutch security services’ perceptions of communism, which we will use to operationalize these insights. Before we elaborate on the operationalization, we will briefly outline the different theoretical insights. The first of these is securitization theory, developed by the Copenhagen School. Ole Waever, Barry Buzan, and Jaap de Wilde, the proponents of this school, hold that issues in the security domain bear extraordinary importance and legitimate the use of extraordinary security measures. Issues are thus framed as security issues by (groups of) people, thus ‘making’ something “a security problem through discursive politics.” ‘Securitization’ is understood as “a set of interrelated practices, and the processes of their production, diffusion, and reception/translation that bring threats into being” (Waever 1996, 106; Balzacq 2011, 1-2). Although we do not look at all ‘interrelated practices’ and processes, we can translate the concept to the world of security services; a problem is ‘securitized’ when the security service considers it a concern requir- ing its attention. ‘Desecuritization’, on the other hand, means that the securitized issue is pushed back into the domain of normal politics (Roe 2004, 284). For the security service this meant that it would no longer consider the issue as threatening and therefore ended its activities to gather, analyze, and disseminate intelligence on the specific issue, group, or individual. This approach to security affairs is fruitful in different ways. To begin with, it allows us to regard the security services’ threat perceptions as a construction, which actively ‘produced’, interpreted, translated, and disseminated. The security services painted a picture of the nature and extent of specific threats. This practice consists of processes of interpretation, translation, and representation. In other words the security services label specific problems, developments, groups, and individuals as a threat to the democratic order or state security. Securitization theory enables us to look into the different aspects of this process, introducing different analytical concepts, three of which we will use for operationalization (see below). Another fruitful perspective offered by the Copenhagen theorists is their emphasis on the symbolic character of the security domain. Central to the securitization argument is framing. A ‘securitizing’ actor uses all kinds of ‘heuristic artefacts’, such as image repertoires, analogies, stereotypes, and emotions, in order to convince his audience that the issue at stake is indeed a matter of na-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 169 tional security (Balzacq 2011, 3). We interpret these artefacts as symbols. A symbol by definition refers to something other than itself, and aims to evoke certain attitudes, impressions, or events (Edelman 1964, 6). It can refer to material things, in the sense that a national flag refers to ‘the country’ and a particular uniform refers to a certain group. But it can also refer to immaterial things such as ideas, norms, and values, which in turn can evoke fears, a sense of community, and other states of being. In this sense, government policies refer not only to their factual statements, but also to the norms and values that lie behind them (Korsten 2005, 8-9). The security domain is inherently symbolic. In the first place, intelligence and security services can be understood as symbols, since their sheer existence indicates that states care for their national security, that they believe an adversary is present or can enter the stage, that his or her intentions are hostile, that something vital is at stake, and that a security service is capable of protecting the cherished values (cf. De Valk 1996, 25; Balzacq 2011, 15-8). Secondly, security services frame threats, adversaries, suspicious groups, political foes, and other vices in such a way that their activity or presence is part of a bigger picture: a possible (horrific) future, a detrimental state of affairs, a potential catastrophe, conflict, or crisis. The mere presence of communists invoked feelings of fear and aversion, because these individuals and organizations referred to something other than themselves, i.e. the possible violation of shared norms and beliefs, or the possible loss of what society values. To be more precise: since the Dutch communists, just like their counterparts all over the world, aimed at bringing down capitalism and establishing world socialism in its place, the ‘dictatorship of the proletariat’ demanded a worldwide revolution (Verrips 1995, 3-4).4 In the eyes of the Dutch security services, part of the political establishment, communist parties thus symbolized the possible breakdown of democratic order and the installation of a totalitarian regime. As long as communist parties held on to these goals, they posed a threat, which the security service sought to neutralize (Engelen 1995, 14; 2007, 224; De Graaff and Wiebes 1994, 13-4). To understand how and why these perceptions were institutionalized over time, we rely, as a second theoretical orientation for this article, on insights from organization theory. Organization theorists are preoccupied with the question of how and why organizations and bureaucracies originate and develop over time. They study all aspects of organizations, from their structural and cultural genesis to the interaction with actors in the institutional environment. The classical school of organization theory, based on the work of sociologist Max Weber, paid a lot of attention to bureaucratic organizations, assuming that bureaucratic organizations are characterized by a rational application of author-

4 E.g. Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Year report B (leftist organizations) 1935.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 170 ity, structure, and process. Organizations specialize and compartmentalize to become more efficient in their tasks. In more recent organization theory, it is assumed that because of this specializing and compartmentalizing, organizations cannot be considered as neutral, wholly rational constructions. Instead the people who set up or reorganize organizations structure organizations according to their normative preferences and interests. Some lines of communication are possible, whilst others are not. Organization structure is, so to speak, agenda setting (Hastedt and Skelley 2009, 115-6). This applies to the Dutch security services in particular. Most of the Western states institutionalized their intelligence and security activities during the end of the nineteenth and beginning of the twentieth century, especially in the course of war or during international crises, to oppose an enemy. Essential activities of these apparatuses were to obtain knowledge about this opponent or enemy, being another individual, country, organization, or state (Moran 2011, 48). Even in peace time, opposing a potential enemy became central to the existence of these services. That is why without such an opponent, the existence of these organizations would be very hard to justify and thus ‘the other’, a threat, or an adversary was of essential, not to say existential importance for security services. Communists suited the role of this ‘other’ eminently, because they stood for the exact opposite political, economic, social, and cultural norms and values the civil, religious, and predominantly conservative oriented members and leaders of the security services embraced (Warner 2009, 16; De Valk 1996, 8-12, 16; Hansen 2006, 19-20). A third theoretical insight which contributes to our understanding of the continuity in threat perceptions focuses on the internal processes of intelligence collection and analysis. It stems from the intelligence studies discipline and is called confirmation bias or cognitive closure. In studying intelligence failures like Pearl Harbour in 1941 and the attacks of 9/11, scholars point to different shortcomings in the intelligence cycle (the process with which agencies collect, analyze, report, and disseminate intelligence). One of these shortcomings is found on the level of the individual employee of an intelligence organization, and is cognitive-psychological in nature. It is called (confirmation) bias or ‘cognitive closure’. This problem arises from the human mind, which is naturally inclined to accept information only if it corresponds to existing information (Johnston 2005, 20-1). This holds true not only for the brain, but for human behaviour in general: custom is the dominant guide of human life (Kuhns 2003, 89). It is also true for intelligence organizations as a whole. While they study threats which often comprise (parts of) whole societies which continually change, intelligence organizations are often large and bureaucratic organizations characterized by tradition. It is therefore inherently difficult to adapt to these changing threats (Hattlebrekke and Smith 2010, 180-1). To operationalize these theoretical insights we will again turn to the concept of securitization. The theory draws our attention to different elements of threat

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 171 perceptions and security policies: the referent subject, referent object, and the security measures or policies aimed at neutralizing the perceived threat. Firstly, the referent subject refers to the source of origin of the threat. Secondly, referent objects refer to things “that are seen to be existentially threatened and have a legitimate claim to survival.” In other words this is the perception of that which is at risk and is worth protecting. And by security measures, finally, we mean the policies or courses of action which are proposed to counter and neutralize the perceived threat (Buzan, Waever and De Wilde 1998, 36; Balzacq 2011, 1-3). In this paper, we will address the elements of and changes in these constitutive elements of the security services’ perceptions of the communist specter in three different periods: between 1918 and 1940, between 1940 and 1960, and finally between 1960 and 1989. The first element pertains to the depiction of the revolutionary and communist threat in terms of the referent subject. We will trace the security services’ perceptions of the referent subject by looking at the nature of the threat. Who exactly was the alleged perpetrator? Were Dutch revolutionaries and communists acting as autonomous agents, only assisted by international fellows and comrades, or was Moscow behind all of it, and was some central agency using Dutch sister organizations as a fifth column, pulling them on a string like puppets? We also scrutinize what was deemed so threatening about their existence, their recent actions, or utterances and the concrete events or developments provoked these perceptions. In some instances the security service used very concrete and tangible descriptions, whilst in others it chose more abstract and intangible wordings. In some periods communists were more of an immediate threat than in others, when the symbolic, potential character of the threat dominated. This was related to the spatial dimension of the referent subject, which varied from a global scope of the adversary, when the security services emphasized the communists’ aspirations for world revolution, to a European, national, regional, or even local range of the communist adversary. Some threats, the security services noted, were international in nature, but gravitated for example towards Amsterdam. In other cases they even evolved around a specific individual.5 Secondly, we will analyze the threat perception of the services in terms of a referent object, the supposed target of the threat (Balzacq 2011, 3). Here we look at the scope of that which was perceived to be in danger, ranging from the government as a whole to democracy, the democratic order, social order, or even freedom in general. In these depictions we look at the images, analogies, or metaphors the security services used to describe what was at stake (cf. De Graaf 2011, 130-1). Although these depictions changed over time, we have to

5 E.g. Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 06632, 24th November 1933.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 172 be aware that the main foundation of the services was in fact the defense of the democratic order and state security. So in the eyes of the security services the referent object of the communist threat was clear; if something was a concern of the security service, then the democratic order or state security was at stake. The wordings and images used to describe what was being threatened, however, did change in the course of the century.6 Thirdly, we will look at the response of the security service to these (changing) threat perceptions. In relation to these threat perceptions, we will ask whether the security service found it necessary to adjust its repertoires of action. Were operational activities decreased or increased? Was the proposed action related to the organizational structure or cognitive bias? Did the security service formulate explicit reasons to improve the intelligence position on the communist adversary? In intelligence terms, this could imply a scaling up to more far-reaching intelligence methods, for example from open source intelligence (OSINT), in the form of reading papers, publications, and other publicly available writings, to the use of informants and agents in an object organization (human intelligence; HUMINT) or microphones and telephone tapes, which is called signals intelligence (SIGINT) (O’Connell 2004, 189-99).7 Another possibility was that the security service expanded its action repertoires, for example by introducing new methods or strategies. We also address the question of how new informational, communicational, and technological techniques informed these stages of securitization (Balzacq 2011, 3, 7; De Graaf and Zwier- lein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). Finally, we will also gauge the socio- psychological dynamics of these responses: were they related to the processes of ‘cognitive closure’ and organizational developments we described above?

2. Revolutionary Turbulence (1918-1940)

2.1 Fright of the Revolution – The Referent Subject Socialism originated in the nineteenth century. Radical thinkers like Pierre Joseph Proudhon inspired middle and working class people around the world to aspire for a more egalitarian society. In the Netherlands, several radical social-

6 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 6911, Letter from the coordinator of the intelligence and security services F. Kist to prime minister Drees, 21 January 1957; Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Report of meeting between head of the BVD and the minister of Interior Affairs, 8th June 1967; Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst, Monthly overview December 1959. 7 E.g. Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Report of meeting between head of the BVD and the minister of Interior Affairs, 8th June 1967.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 173 ist parties were formed in the second half of the nineteenth century. Although the labor movement established the Social Democratic Workers’ Party (Soci- aal-Democratische Arbeiderspartij, SDAP) in 1894, which preferred to operate within the boundaries dictated by parliamentary democracy, radical socialism survived. The radicals interpreted socialism in a much stricter sense than their SDAP counterparts, advocating the unchaining of a revolution which would end world capitalism and turn the means of production into the hands of the proletariat. Whilst radical socialist parties, such as the Social Democratic Party (SDP), initially only acquired the support of a few hundred members, membership doubled during the revolutionary unrest in Russia and Germany at the end of the First World War (De Rooij 2005, 113-45; Verrips 1995, 3). Authorities started to worry when in fall 1917 the leader of the Bolshevik faction of the Russian Social Democratic Labor Party, Vladimir Ilyich Lenin, seized power in Russia. In the Netherlands a harsh winter and deplorable economic conditions were expected, so the head of the Amsterdam police T. M. Roest van Limburg told his inspector K.H. Broekhoff to pay special attention to “phenomena pointing at revolutionary movements” (De Graaff 1997, 98). Whilst some radical socialists mobilized soldiers and workers to form councils, which could help overtake state power just as the Bolsheviks had done in Rus- sia, revolution still seemed far away (Engelen 2000, 33-4). The end of the First World War in November 1918 brought revolution closer to home: in the face of coming defeat in the war, revolutionary violence broke out in various places in Germany. This led the Dutch authorities to fear that this “revolutionary stream would inexorably come westward,” to the Netherlands.8 Then, on 12th November, the external political threat manifested itself in domestic appeals for revolution. In parliament one of the founders of the social democratic party, representative and party leader Pieter Jelles Troelstra called on the government to abdicate and on the workers to assume the right to govern themselves (Wijne 1999, 8-12). Although there were no widespread disturbances, in some cities the revolution was seemingly gaining momentum. The day after Troelstra had spoken before parliament, the Amsterdam-based radical socialist David Wijnkoop called his audience to arms during a speech in order to liberate one of their comrades from the military barracks where he was held (Kaal 2008, 23-4). In Maastricht and Heerlen, revolutionary unrest erupted as well. In Aken, just over the border, “thousands of Spartacists” (German revolutionaries) were standing by, ready to take their revolution beyond the border, authorities feared (De Graaff 2007, 53-4).9 A.R. Zimmerman, the mayor of Rotterdam, had heard rumors of the revolutionary agitation and feared that revolutionary chaos was about to break loose. In response Zimmerman invited

8 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministry of Finance, entry 2.08.41, inventory number 1390. 9 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 01319, 31st May 1919.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 174 the leaders of the local department of the socialist SDAP party in Rotterdam to the city hall, allegedly to discuss a possible peaceful transition to socialism (Bosmans 1979). The events of November 1918 were perceived as a twofold threat. The revolutionaries in Germany posed the first and most alarming threat. Although the worst unrest in Germany was subdued in the ensuing months, the so-called Spartacists posed a continuing threat. The military intelligence and security service GS III, and from 1919 on the Central Intelligence Service (the first Dutch security service), consequently kept reporting rumors of Spartacists planning to bring revolution to the Netherlands. Military messengers and units policing the eastern Dutch borders dispatched alarming reports to The Hague, warning that the government should “prepare for the worst.”10 When on 11th January 1923 a French-Belgian military operation started to occupy the Ruhr area in western Germany, security services again ventilated fear of revolutionary agitation. Only when the troops retreated two years later did the “spill-over threat” start to wane (Fischer 2003, 290-3). The other element constituting the referent object of this revolutionary threat was of a domestic nature. To ascertain whether the revolutionary unrest would really spill over into the Netherlands, the central and local governments needed information on the intentions, activities, and possible supporters of the revolution such as extreme leftist parties and their members. How would these radical socialists react to the agitation across the eastern border? From this moment on, the security service systematically collected intelligence on the communist parties, revolutionary socialist organizations, anarchists, free thinkers, pacifists, left-wing religious groups, and even on the obscure movement of the Esperan- tists. Citizens maintaining contacts with revolutionaries abroad were considered a threat as well (De Graaff 1997, 102; Hijzen 2012). Whilst the external referent subject faded away, the domestic component of the threat retained its threatening character in the perception of the services and their political masters. The Dutch revolutionaries did in fact take their orders from an organization which determined the policies for communist parties worldwide: the Komintern. In 1919 the Third Communist International had decided that communists worldwide should fight, if necessary with arms, for the overthrow of the international bourgeoisie (Hallas 2008, 10-25). The perceived threat of the revolutionaries and communists thus retained an acute character in the years following the ‘November 18 events’.11 As time progressed however and the revolutionary events at the end of the First World War became part of an increasingly distant past, the depictions of the domestic revolutionary adversary seemed to shift as well. To be sure, noth-

10 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 03334, 22nd March 1920. 11 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Concise overview of the general situation number 16, 16th October 1920.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 175 ing changed in the goals of the Dutch communists: they still adhered to the ideal of a global revolution. But the urgency of the threat, in the mode of a November 1918 take-over scenario, seemed to disappear. The CI observed that things were ‘relatively peaceful’ in communist circles. As a consequence, it increasingly depicted the communist and revolutionary adversary in abstract terms. At a meeting with the police chiefs in 1928 the head of the security service, T.S. Rooseboom, spoke about ‘Moscow’ carrying out “very systematic actions to undermine all instruments of authority.” And in later years, reports disseminated by the Central Intelligence Service spoke of ‘revolutionary possibilities’ and ‘agitation’.12 Communism was, in Rooseboom’s words, foremost a “doctrine of subversion, by all conceivable means and in an almost scientific manner.” The communists improved their art of subversion to such a high level of perfection, the security service reported, that even the leader of the national socialist party in Germany, Adolf Hitler, used ‘communist techniques’ in subverting legitimate state power.13 Notwithstanding this general threat assessment, on different occasions, the security service observed that the Communist Party of Holland had ceased to cause any agitation. In fact, the revolutionaries were losing terrain. By the end of 1928 the Central Intelligence Service noted that lately “communist party life was not very cheerful.” The number of active supporters declined.14 Where communism was on the wane and showed signs of ‘slackness’, new totalitarian and radical ideologies such as fascism and Nazism were gaining ground, the service observed somewhat uneasily. By 1933 the “communist party here in the Netherlands only stood a chance in intellectual circles,” the security service reported.15 And so the mass proportions of the communist threat decreased very clearly. The CI concluded in 1934 that the communist parties “were no longer the hazardous factor they were before.”16

2.2 Order, Peace, and Authority at Risk – The Referent Object What then was actually threatened by this red menace, what was at stake? According to the Dutch security service the revolutionary turbulence was a multifaceted threat, directed at a variety of objects. In the November days of 1918 the first object of the communist threat appeared to be the military. If soldiers were susceptible to the revolutionary rhetoric, their allegiance to the fatherland was no longer guaranteed. When even in obscure provincial towns such as Kwadijk and Purmerend proper ‘councils of

12 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 17651, 27th March 1928; Centrale Inlicht- ingendienst, Year reports B (leftist organizations) 1934, 1936, 1938. 13 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 23939, 21st November 1930. 14 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Overview report number 4, 1928. 15 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 06632, 24th November 1933. 16 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 15449, 23rd November 1934.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 176 workers and soldiers’ were established, similar to the ones in Kiel or Petrograd (Saint Petersburg), subversion of the army from within became a real possibility, in the eyes of the military leadership (Blom and Stelling, 855-78; Engelen 2002, 384). For a state to preserve its power, it depends on the army. When called upon, soldiers had to be loyal, obeying the orders of the queen and fatherland, not those of the insurgents. In response to this threat from within, army officers established a ‘league of loyalists’.17 Consequently, the military intelligence and security service GS III was instructed to monitor whether revolutionary texts or propaganda materials circulated within its ranks, and screened new recruits for their possible membership of revolutionary organizations. Commanders of the troops were ordered to notify the security service about any socialist activity within their ranks. Soldiers’ complaints about deplorable clothing, shelter, or nourishment were from then on interpreted as acts of subversion: “whenever they kept complaining about the miserable food” or “deliberately provoked complaints in other ways,” they were immediately suspected or accused of fueling revolutionary sentiments.18 A second vulnerability to this communist threat was located in the domain of public order, peace and authority. Despite the disquieting days of November 1918, however, the cabinet of Ruijs de Beerenbrouck as a whole was not convinced of the likelihood of a communist takeover. It did not fear that revolutionaries anywhere in the country had concrete plans or the capabilities to overthrow government or the democratic system as a whole. Only in Rotterdam did the SDAP manage to mobilize a substantial number of workers, thereby upset- ting the public order and social peace, but in the rest of the country all was quiet (De Valk and Kappelhof, 85-6). Already on 13th November 1918, Ruijs de Beerenbrouck was informed by the military leadership that Pieter Jelles Troelstra, who had held his direful speech in parliament the day before, had withdrawn his statements and admitted his mistake. The General Staff of the Dutch army knew about Troelstra’s pull back in advance, through military phone tapping, which supposedly put political worries at ease early on (Engelen 2002, 35-7). The events had shown nonetheless that there was potential for revolutionary unrest or agitation. To reassure the people and soothe potential future rebellion in Dutch society, the cabinet of Ruijs de Beerenbrouck addressed the Dutch people in a proclamation, compiled in the night after Troelstra had held his speech. The proclamation was printed in every newspaper and placarded throughout the country; it stated that “in the interest of the rights and freedoms

17 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Commander of the Military Position Hollands Diep and the Volkerak 1812-1922, entry 3.09.25, inventory number 218. 18 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 17651, 27th March 1928.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 177 of the entire people” the government had decided to maintain “peace and order” (Wijne 1999, 29). Instead of explicitly blaming the extreme left for the turmoil, the government consciously chose to emphasize peace, order, and authority. In so doing, the prime minister refrained from estranging the working class. By introducing different policies aimed at supporting the social and economic conditions of the workers’ class and explicitly meeting socialist demands such as female suf- frage, the government encapsulated the workers, thereby neutralizing possible future support for revolutionary appeals (Wijne 1999, 29-30). The majority of the political and administrative elite were truly convinced that it was not the marginal activities of socialists but public disorder in itself that was the real threat. In their eyes ‘the people’ or society at large would be lost without a proper working government in place. The Rotterdam Burgomaster, Zimmer- man, was a good example of this fear: in response to the critique regarding his position in November 1918, he underlined that his major concern had not been the communists, but the ‘phenomena of dissolution’ as such. He had merely tried to ‘calm the excitement’, and still considered it his most important task to provide the people of Rotterdam with order and peace.19

2.3 Establishing the Security Service – The Response The communist threat triggered the establishment of the first security service in the Netherlands. In 1918 the security service still had to be invented. During the November days of 1918, the military secret service GS III had performed domestic intelligence tasks (Engelen 2002, 35). One of the reasons for the fact that H.A.C. Fabius, head of GS III, was so well informed was that the Amster- dam police chief sent him lists with the names of revolutionaries and the members of revolutionary organizations in his city. His policemen visited political meetings of radical parties regularly, learning what these organizations were up to and writing down their names. Herewith the police constructed an increasingly complete picture of the membership of radical parties in their cities. Through these city reports, a national intelligence estimate on the revolutionary threat in the country as a whole could be constructed. This is exactly what Fabius suggested: to establish a civilian agency that could assemble such general intelligence on a regular basis (Kluiters 1993, 182). Fabius’ plans were received rather dispassionately. The police chiefs were reluctant to hand over information (and power) to a national, central security unit; and the minister of the interior and prime minister Ruijs de Beerenbrouck, who would have to carry the political and financial responsibility for the service, was not convinced of its value as such. He refused to spend money on the security service. After some deliberations, it was decided that the minister of

19 Het vaderland, 18th November 1928.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 178 warfare would pay the bills, while the political responsibility was consigned to the minister of the interior. It was a civilian security service after all. So, in 1919 the Central Intelligence Service (Centrale Inlichtingendienst, abbreviated as CI) was established. The service was of a small scale, operating under military wings, and relying heavily on the intelligence the municipal police gathered (Engelen 2002, 29-30). Over the years, the CI collected intelligence on different kinds of threats, e.g. pacifism and from the second half of the 1930s on fascist and national socialist parties too. But from its inception, the most important object of attention was the political organizations of the labor movement and its extreme fringes. Based mainly on the police reports, the security service assembled extensive knowledge on the membership of Dutch social and political organizations on the extreme left, such as the Trotskyists, socialists, Bolsheviks, and communists (Hijzen 2012, 335-40). This knowledge became aggregated in different kinds of intelligence products, such as two weekly reports, yearly reports and the so-called black lists. These lists contained the names of all Dutch and international revolutionaries, and included comments on their ‘status’ as well. One was depicted as ‘a dangerous communist’, another as ‘a revolutionary propagandist’ and a third was described as offering logistical support to revolutionaries.20

2.4 No Longer the Hazardous Factor of Before – Concluding Remarks When in November 1918 revolution broke out in Germany, the Dutch political establishment feared that similar developments could take place in their country as well. When Troelstra called for revolution at home too, some local politicians feared that revolution was about to break out. This established the symbolic character of Dutch socialist parties; the revolutionaries aspired to subvert public and political order, which was something the civil, confessional, and conservative middle class and political elite held in high esteem. Apart from an antirevolutionary law, the political elite did not take much action against this threat. The security service, established in 1919, was the one and only organization directed at monitoring this new threat. The small-scale service, granted with a limited budget, mainly collected police reports to do so. The threat was not publicly securitized or heavily politicized, which would have made the communist threat the center of political attention and an object of broader security policies. What was at stake, in the perception of politicians and the security service alike, was public order, peace, and authority and the threat of a population running wild on unrestrained instincts.

20 Centrale Inlichtingendienst, Report number 83845a, 12th July 1939.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 179 Until late in the 1920s the memory of November 1918 was enough to legitimize the continued attention towards left extremist political life. But when the years passed, and November 1918 became a more distant memory, the security service started framing the threat in more abstract terms. The threat transformed from an actual threat to a potential one. Revolutionary agitation was still a possible scenario, but it became a less likely one. In the words of the head of the security service T.S. Rooseboom, communism was showing signs of ‘slackness’. It was no longer as hazardous as before.

3. Communists as the Next Oppressors (1940-1960)

3.1 The Creation of the Communist Fifth Column – Referent Subject Then on 10th May 1940 everything changed. The German army invaded the Netherlands and after six days the military surrendered, while the Dutch government fled to London and parliament was suspended. The officers of the Central Intelligence Service took their refuge in London as well, thereby dissolving the existing intelligence infrastructure in the Netherlands. When on 29th May 1940 Reichskommissar Arthur Seyss-Inquart was installed as the highest authority in the Netherlands, Dutch sovereignty ceased to exist. In London Wilhelmina led the Dutch government to choose the side of the Allied Forces in the war. By opting for the Allied side, in the hope of regaining its sovereignty, the Dutch government became dependent upon Allied successes in the war and their strategies for the restoration of international security (Posthumus Meyjes 1958, 88; De Jong 1979, 75-6; Engelen 2002 47-8). For the Dutch government the communists lost their priority to the national socialist regime as the most comprehensive threat. Social democrats had moreover assumed ministerial seats under the De Geer cabinet in 1939, so the perceived distance between the social democrats on the one side and the confessional and liberal conservative parties on the other had diminished. Communists were very active in the resistance, centralizing their resistance activities in the nationally organized ‘Council of Resistance’ in 1943. Their important role in the resistance gave the communists a lot of goodwill and credibility amongst the population. Communists underwent a transformation from being the enemy into representing a staunch ally in the resistance movements that sprang up all over the Netherlands (De Jong 1975, 161-5; Verrips 1995, 138-73). However, this apparent political truce in opposition towards the German ag- gressor was riven by a continued suspicion of communists. The intelligence and security agencies, established by the Dutch government in exile between 1940 and 1942, observed that different resistance groups were deeply divided

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 180 along religious and ideological lines. The Bureau of Intelligence, created on 28th November 1942, observed for example that communist and socialist groups refused to cooperate.21 The orthodox protestant Landelijke Knokploegen (National Fighting Squads) and the Landelijke Organisatie van Onderduikers (National Organization of Refugees), for example, deeply mistrusted the communists belonging to the Council of Resistance (De Jong 1976, 983). Fear of communism resurfaced in government circles, when in 1943 after two years of heavy fighting the war finally seemed to take a positive turn for the Allies. As the prospect of winning and ending the war was discussed during the cabinet meetings, the Dutch government decided to materialize its contingency planning for the ‘transitional period’; the vacuum of power between the departing German government and the return of the Dutch authorities (Beyens 2009, 108-109). The cabinet feared that in the face of a power vacuum, public order and social peace could not be upheld. On the one hand the cabinet in London feared civilians taking the matter into their own hands by executing alleged collaborators, and on the other they saw once again the specter of a communist takeover. The Gerbrandy cabinet hence took security measures to prevent a “repetition of November 18” from happening (De Jong 1979, 1352- 3). Many prominent members of the resistance shared these fears. While the end of the war was approaching, non-communist resistance groups started to worry about what all these armed and well organized communists would do after the war. Would they hand over their weaponry to the competent authority? Or were they planning on keeping the weapons to seize power, capitalizing on the transitional period between the defeat of the Germans and the return of the Dutch government? When news arrived on a thwarted Belgium coup d’état in November 1944, many resistance fighters became alert for communists trying to stage their revolution at the end of the war (Beyens 2009, 107-8). Although these fears did not materialize, they survived far into the postwar period. Between September 1944, when the South of the Netherlands was liberated, and 5th May 1945 when the rest of the country was freed as well, no communist agitation took place, nor in the months thereafter. Fears that it might happen in the future nevertheless found their way into the first postwar security service, the Bureau of National Security, established on 29th May 1945. Many of the employees of this service were former resistance fighters (Engelen 2007, 26-7). In January 1946, the Bureau of National Security reported a large number of non-authorized weapons within Dutch society, a state of affairs the service thought profoundly ‘alarming’. In addition, rumor spread

21 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries of Interior Affairs and General Affairs in London, entry 2.04.76, inventory number 161, Overview of the situation in the Nether- lands, compiled by the Bureau of Intelligence, end of October 1943.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 181 that the communist party, quickly resurrected after the war, planned to establish a ‘communist secret service’.22 Therefore as soon as 1946, the security service concluded that communism was the central threat in the postwar world – again (Hofland 1972, 144; Witte 1989, 38).23 This priority was informed first of all by the conservative, religious, and resistance background of the intelligence officers. Most of them were highly motivated to defend their fatherland as they had done during the war, only now from another totalitarian regime: the Soviet Union. Secondly, the war played a crucial role in transforming the resurfacing communist threat into a much more menacing phenomenon. In 1946, communism appeared to become a mass-based threat again when in the first postwar elections ten percent of the Dutch electorate voted for the Communist Party of the Nether- lands.24 And it could be assumed that many more people were passively supporting the communists because of their resistance efforts, and due to the role of the Red Army in fighting the Nazis.25 Moreover, the potentiality that characterized the prewar communist threat, had obtained an alarming actuality during the war. The German national socialist regime had demonstrated how quickly a totalitarian party could gain power, and how devastating the consequences were. In a way, the communist threat obtained national socialist and German traits. This transformation and expansion of the communist threat perception was reflected in an external and internal element of the referent subject of the threat. The external threat consisted of the possibility of a military attack by the Soviet Union. The communist takeovers in Eastern and Central Europe had demonstrated that Stalin was no less expansive in his ambitions than Hitler had been (Palmer 2007, 871; Van der Boom 2001, 33). The internal element of the communist fear related to the allegiance of members of Dutch communist parties to Moscow. They had never renounced their dreams of world revolution and they still took orders directly from Moscow. The communist coup in Czechoslovakia in February 1948 underscored this fear (De Graaff 1997, 56; De Liagre Böhl 1982, 18). Although the coup did not lead Dutch authorities to believe that Dutch communists were capable of a similar operation, the security service did report an exultant mood in communist circles. Communists publicly

22 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of Bureau Nationale Veiligheid, entry 2.04.80, inventory number 3528, Secret report of Bureau Nationale Veiligheid, bureau B, number 1, 12th January 1946. 23 Interview with an anonymous former employee of Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst in a radio documentary, ‘Going back on track: serving the country’, VPRO radio documentary, broadcast 18th October 1998. 24 Dutch election results 1918-now. 25 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of Bureau Nationale Veiligheid, entry 2.04.80, inventory number 3528, Monthly report January 1946.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 182 claimed that the Russians ‘were closer than ever’ and that revolution was inevitably coming to the Netherlands as well.26 From this point on, the Dutch communists were considered a ‘fifth column’. The fifth column image stemmed from the Spanish Civil War (1936-1939), and referred to a ‘class of insurgents’ within the city walls or in this case national boundaries; a large number of agents, secretly helping the enemy outside the gates or borders by spying and sabotaging, in order to undermine the defense capabilities of the state. Although this specter of a centralized and well organized group, directed by a foreign power and capable of anything was a phan- tom, the Dutch public anxiously supposed it was very real (De Jong 1953, 3-4). The same happened to the communists. A military counterpart of the civilian security service described Dutch communists as “a more or less centrally organized group of party members, performing all kinds of services for the future enemy, which in addition will fight shoulder to shoulder with the invading enemy columns, as soon as the moment of overt struggle has come.”27 This ‘fifth column’ image connected the internal and external communist threat perceptions and moreover gave them a military character. Dutch communists were considered as actual spies and saboteurs for Stalin.28 Where the CPSU had exerted influence through the Komintern before the war as well, it now seemed to direct the Dutch communists to help prepare for a direct and military attack on the West. The first head of the Binnenlandse Veilig- heidsdienst Louis Einthoven considered the Dutch communists to be in the frontlines of that offensive. Although Dutch communists had not yet proven to pose a serious threat to law and order, “the threat was creeping in.” The government should be “cautious for the relentless subverting activities common in communist circles.” Communists seized every opportunity to “test the solidity of the existing polity and profit politically from possible critical situations.”29 In the eyes of Louis Einthoven and his organization, communism had thus become “a gigantic threat.” It had adopted dimensions it did not have before the war and that had made communism a more massive, acute, and existentially

26 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 1151, Reactions from the communist side on the known events in Czechoslovakia, memorandum of J.G. Crabbendam for prime minister L. Beel, 12th April 1948. 27 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11709, G2B [military intelligence service] to the Commissie van Coördinatie voor de Inlicht- ingen- en Veiligheidsdiensten, Various thoughts on fifth column activities, 10th November 1950. 28 Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Memorandum of A. Kuipers, Sketch for an effective organization of the service, 1959. 29 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11707, Secret advice to the council of ministers, 1950.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 183 threatening phenomenon than ever before. Communism, in Einthoven’s words, was inherently prone to strive for world domination. It “recoiled from nothing” and “had an endless amount of resources.”30

3.2 Western Democracies at Risk – The Referent Object Due to the Second World War the referent object of this perceived threat changed as well. From an abstract threat to public order, social peace, and political authority, communism regained its ‘November 18 traits’. From 1943 onwards, as we have described in the previous paragraph, the Dutch government and prominent resistance members feared that communists might seize the opportunity during the transitional period immediately following the war. Just as Zimmerman had expressed his fear that the absence of a disciplining authority might unleash primitive passions among the population, now the Military Authority, responsible for upholding order and state power during this period, assumed that a licentious population was indeed difficult to restrain again. This might even lead to bloodbaths. Communists knew this too, the military reasoned. Hence “this too was a welcome instance for inauspicious or extremist elements to strike a blow” (cited in Witte 1990, 39-40). In the months following the defeat of Germany, the fears of large-scale agitation and violence among the Dutch population did not materialize. Com- munism nevertheless continued to haunt the security services for the decades to come, only now for different reasons and with different effects. Until the 1960s two major changes occurred in the referent object of the communist threat. In the first place, the referent object of the domestic communist threat shifted from the idea of a rampaging population combined with communists seizing power, to a more concrete and short-term threat. As indicated above, the be- nevolent attitude of a large proportion of the Dutch population and the communists’ victory in the elections of 1946 troubled officials and politicians alike. Leaders of the confessional workers’ unions feared that ‘their’ workers would desert to communist unions, and church leaders considered the antireligious communists to be a major threat to Christianity (Koedijk 1997, 57). Although the cabinet of Louis Beel did not want to take radical security measures – instead it believed that economic recovery was the key to depriving communism of its matrix – the security services geared up to combat communism (De Li- agre Böhl 2003, 214-29). Einthoven identified three arenas in which communists would launch their subversive activities. The first was the political arena. As ordered by the communist international, reestablished in 1947 as the Kominform, the Communist

30 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 305, Comment of L. Einthoven for prime minister L. Beel, 10th March 1948.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 184 Party of the Netherlands tried to win votes (Havenaar 1993, 69; Hogan 1997, 17). In order to secure the normal functioning of the democratic order and to prevent the Soviet Union from gaining influence, the security service therefore tried to monitor and neutralize the different tactics the communists applied to strive for political influence. These tactics changed over the years. By the end of the 1950s the security service observed that the communist party had abandoned its attempts to grow electorally. Instead Moscow instructed them to “infiltrate nationalist parties, in such a way that they implement policies which are consistent with Moscow’s requirements.”31 The second object of communist infiltrations was the economy. When, for example, in September 1948 communist unions called their members to go on strike, the intelligence analysts of the security service concluded that they only did this to “disrupt the economic equilibrium.” Communists hoped to destabilize the political and economic order. Calling for strikes was part of this strategy to cause ‘agitation’.32 Therefore the security service structurally gathered intelligence on the communist involvement in the workers’ movement. Infiltra- tion in ‘bona fide’, i.e. noncommunist workers’ unions appeared to be an important strategy in the economic sphere as well.33 The third locus of communist activities was the most tangible one: the government apparatus. One of the most important tasks of the postwar security services was to protect vulnerable positions in bureaucracy and access to confidential political and military information (Koedijk 2010, 295-300). On the one hand, this meant that the security service advised and trained employees of government agencies to secure their buildings, confidential policy documents, rooms, their gates, et cetera. On the other hand, the service carried out vetting requests and inquiries into the political background of applicants to a position within government agencies and private firms carrying out work commissioned by the ministry of Defense (Engelen 1995, 107-9). The second change in the referent object against which the communist threat was purportedly directed, was its increasing ideological and international framing. To be more precise: whereas before the war communism was framed as threatening public order and social peace, in Einthoven’s days the security

31 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11930; BVD contribution to a report from the Comité Verenigde Inlichtingendiensten Ne- derland, 4th May 1960. 32 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 1152, Report on the social-economic activities of the Communistische Partij Nederland, 16th September 1948. 33 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11707, Draft circular for high level civil servants, Commissie van Coördinatie voor de In- lichtingen- en Veiligheidsdiensten, 27th January 1950.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 185 service explicitly indicated that the communists were undermining the domestic and international order as such and aimed to install a communist dictatorship. Both the referent subject and its object had assumed totalitarian proportions, according to the service. Nothing less than national sovereignty and democratic liberty were at stake. Not only on a national scale, but on an international plane as well. In 1948 the Netherlands co-founded the Western European Union, a military alliance between the Netherlands, Belgium, Luxemburg, and France. And in April 1949 the Dutch joined the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, NATO. This military alliance was led by the United States. For the Netherlands, becoming a member implied alignment with the US (Hellema 2001, 148-52; De Liagre Böhl 2003, 220-222). National security had now in fact become international security, because the Western states agreed that an attack on one of the member states was to be perceived as an attack on them all. The Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst was appointed as the national security authority in 1949, responsible for securing the governmental and military apparatus within a European and Transatlantic context (De Geus 1998, 61-3). From this moment on, the security service increasingly interpreted the activities of the Communist Party of the Netherlands in this international context. Their activities were not only threatening to the Dutch democratic system, but to that of all member states. Dutch communists were therefore seen as “a constant threat” to “Western countries, Western democratic society, and Western culture.”34

3.3 Defensive and Offensive Intelligence Techniques – The Response These enhanced dimensions of the communist threat legitimized a whole range of new security measures. The Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst became incom- parably larger, more professional, and offensive than its predecessors had ever been. We will trace these changes along two paths: one institutional, the other technical and methodical. During the war, successor organizations to the Centrale Inlichtingendienst were established under British auspices. The British trained recruits, provided the proper equipment, and led the Dutch intelligence missions in the occupied homeland. Other Dutchmen learned intelligence in practice while being active in the resistance (De Jong 1979, 837). Although the first postwar service (the Bureau of National Security (Bureau Nationale Veiligheid)) was mainly established to deal with the consequences of war and occupation, the Central Securi-

34 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11707, Draft circular for high level civil servants, Commissie van Coördinatie voor de In- lichtingen- en Veiligheidsdiensten, 27th January 1950.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 186 ty Service (Centrale Veiligheidsdienst), established in April 1946, had a much wider ambition. The CVD was renamed the Domestic (or internal) Security Service: Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst (acronym: BVD) in August 1949 and was stocked with more than 600 employees and several millions of guilders as an annual budget (Engelen 2010, 59-70).35 On the methodical and technical front, the security service was best equipped to oppose the communist threat. Organizational theory accounts for this. Organizations are not neutral and free of values and norms, as we mentioned in the introduction; they reflect the normative preferences of the people involved in the establishment of the organization. In this case, that was Louis Einthoven, head of the respective security services between 1945 and 1961. Einthoven designed an organizational structure to know, counter, and neutralize the communist adversary in an offensive way. Some administrative units of the BVD for example exactly mirrored the structure of the Communist Party of the Netherlands (Engelen 2007, 27-8). Within the BVD the domestic communist threat was the responsibility of the ‘B division’ of the security service, which was one of the largest divisions of the security service since its inception. Employees of ‘B’, together with some other units specialized in the technical and operational facets of intelligence work, collected and analyzed intelligence. The BVD read newspapers, pamphlets, magazines, and brochures of organizations, worked with informants and agents, sometimes employing microphones to listen in on specific conversations, and copied administrations during so-called surreptitious entry operations. The BVD thus specialized in and became very good at knowing every listed communist in the Netherlands, their backgrounds, plans, and thoughts (Engelen 1995, 375; 2000, 40-1). In the second half of the 1950s the perceived acuteness and actuality of the threat permitted Einthoven to take the fight against communism a step further: the BVD added psychological warfare to its intelligence repertoire. Using a technique he and his employees learned from the British and the Americans, Einthoven introduced a specific form of psychological warfare, ‘divide et im- pera’. The first of two PSYWAR operations started in 1956, by means of BVD officials posing as communist party members, sowing distrust and discord within the highest party ranks. In a second operation the BVD established a rival communist party of its own, the Socialist Workers’ Party, on 12th July 1957, in order to distract the CPN in fighting paper tigers and draining energy from the communist cadre (Engelen 1995, 218-46).

35 This service existed until 2002, when it was transformed and renamed the General Intelli- gence and Security Agency (Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst), which exists to this day.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 187 3.4 A Civil Service Fighting a War – Concluding Remarks Whereas the Central Intelligence Service observed that all was quiet on the communist front in the 1930s, the Second World War changed threat perceptions irreversibly. During the war, although communists played an important role in the resistance, a ‘repetition of November 18’ was feared by the Dutch government in London and resistance fighters alike. The German occupation and wartime experience moreover caused widespread anti-totalitarianism. The security service used the symbolic and conspiratorial elements of the communist threat to successfully politicize and securitize the threat. In the second half of the 1940s, as opposed to the preceding decade, communism seemed to become a mass-based phenomenon again. Moreover, the German occupation and the role the Dutch right-wing extremist parties had played before the war now gave the Dutch communists a very acute and military threatening character. Communists in the Netherlands were perceived as a true fifth column. Democratic order, even freedom was considered as being under siege, both from the outside and from within; not only in the Netherlands, but in the entire Western, free world. Whilst the prewar security service was the product of neutrality policy and thus concentrated on the apolitical referent object of the communist threat, i.e. public order, peace, and authority, Einthoven’s security service considered communist activities in the light of the new international order after 1945: Communism had gained major military and political momentum and threatened to undermine the whole free, western world. To prevent this from happening, the security service was allowed almost free reign. Einthoven made sure that he structured the BVD organization in such a way that his organization was best equipped to fight what threatened the free world most: communism. With over 600 employees, Einthoven was able to professionalize the domestic intelligence work and collect substantially more intelligence on the communist adversary than ever before. He structured the organization to suit this essentially anticommunist task and even used psychological warfare operations to break the communist strength. Although the BVD was a civilian security service and used civilian means, Einthoven perceived himself to be in military combat with his communist adversary. Therefore he framed the communist threat in military, ideological, and international terms, which legitimized and prioritized his endeavors.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 188 4. Communism as an All-Encompassing Threat (1960-1989)

4.1 A Threat Beyond any Formal Measurement – The Referent Subject In the 1960s, history seemed to repeat itself. Just as communism became less of an actual, but more of an abstract and potential threat in the 1930s, somewhere in the 1960s communism seemed to become less threatening than it had been since the Second World War. As the years progressed after the war, Western European governments were less and less convinced that a third world war would start anytime soon (Van der Boom 2001, 11). Already in the 1950s several indications pointed in this direction. In the first place, the Premier of the Soviet Union, Joseph Stalin, had died in 1953. This led to a temporary and mild détente in international relations. Stalin’s successor Nikita Khrushchev started a campaign to ‘destalinize’ the Soviet Union and steered towards im- proving relations with the West. In 1955 the Soviet Union and the United States were formally on speaking terms again, at the conference of Geneva where they discussed the terms for ending the war in Korea, and other global affairs. And in 1956 Khrushchev announced the policy of ‘peaceful coexistence’. Khrushchev claimed that the communist bloc and the West could coexist peacefully, without having to destroy or dominate one another (Havenaar 1993, 122-4). In 1959 Khrushchev and the US president Dwight Eisenhower held talks in Camp David, and although the Cuban Crisis of 1962 brought the world to the edge of war, soon thereafter international relations changed for the better (Hellema 2001, 178). Secondly, throughout the 1950s the United States was not the only party with nuclear arms any more. American intelligence indicated that the Soviet Union conducted successful tests with the H-bomb in 1952 and 1954, demon- strating that the Soviet Union’s nuclear arsenal was reaching NATO levels. In other words, both parties now had nuclear capabilities and possessed ‘the bomb’ (Judt 2005, 273). Within NATO this led to the decision to deploy nuclear weapons on Western European territory. The cabinet of Willem Drees accepted that NATO could install nuclear missiles on Dutch territory in January 1958, which was effectuated in 1960 (Hellema 1995, 182-3). This implied that future warfare, for which both global power blocs were preparing, would not be conventional; it would be nuclear. Although on the one hand, as a Dutch government official remarked in a memorandum, this meant that the sooner the enemy was paralyzed the better, many government officials also expected that the ‘reciprocity of the expected horrors’ and the ‘mutually assured destruction’

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 189 (MAD) would restrain both parties from going to war too quickly.36 Although both parties still had to demonstrate their willingness and capability to go to war at any moment, in the short term war was becoming less likely (Freedman 1981, 234; Crozier 1998, 177; Gaddis 2005, 25-7; Traa 2009, 169). In an internal report the security service observed that the ‘military position’ of both parties was ‘stuck’. ‘Humanity’ started to realize that continuing the war was impossible without risking ‘self-destruction’.37 However, for the BVD peaceful coexistence was a farce. Louis Einthoven made it clear in his memoirs that he was not going to give credit to Soviet leaders like Khrushchev, who had previously threatened Western leaders, saying ‘We will bury you’, or to the head of the intelligence service KGB, An- dropov, who was overheard saying that ‘peaceful coexistence was a form of class struggle’ (Einthoven 1974, 214). The real reason behind the peaceful coexistence talks was “probably to spread among the populations the thought that maintaining and expanding intensive defense establishments and defense instruments would be unnecessary.”38 Nor did the service give credit to the apparent tactical move of the Communist Party of the Netherlands in opening up to other political parties. For the BVD, this was merely another attempt to win support: “a communist party propagating flexibility and compromise would exercise the strongest attraction to the masses.”39 In the eyes of the BVD, therefore, the referent subject of the communist threat transformed in three different respects. In the first place, the deceiving character of communists came to the fore. As another government agency wrote in a memorandum in 1955: if one is “to understand the real meaning of the words and deeds of communist leaders, one should not appreciate their apparent meaning, but should see them against a background of communist struggle which started a hundred years ago and aims at the establishing the world communist society.”40

36 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11778, Memorandum Defensie Studiecentrum, How to psychologically prepare the Dutch population?, [without date, probably 1955]. 37 Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Memorandum of A. Kuipers, Sketch for an effective organization of the service, 1959. 38 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 4735, Memorandum of J. Burger to minister of Interior Affairs, November 1954. 39 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 4735, Letter of the Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst to the Vaste Kamercommissie voor de Controle op de Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst, The political direction of the Communis- tische Partij Nederland after the session of the party leadership, 17th November 1955. 40 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 190 Secondly, the scope and size of the communist problem had expanded im- mensely. From a short-term, military, and imminent threat, communism had transformed into a long-term, enduring enemy which attempted to undermine the West with all means and tactics. In a report in which the security service informed parliament on the anticommunist security measures in the United States, an American statesman was approvingly cited saying that ‘the strength of the communist party is beyond any formal measurement’. Even if the membership numbers of communist organizations went down, their potential for mobilizing support gave the communists an aura of everlasting potential.41 Thirdly, this led the BVD to persist in interpreting the communist threat in ideological terms which resulted in an almost metaphysical threat perception. Even when the CPN severed all ties with Moscow and announced its policy of autonomy (1963-1977) – the CPN refused to choose between China and Mos- cow – the service still saw the CPN as the manifestation of a global communist network, commanded by Moscow. For the security service, the direct connections between a foreign power and a political party were the main reason for a continued focus on Dutch communism, because of the omnipresent possibility of another regime interfering in domestic politics. Although these ties were cut, this did not lead the security service to conclude that Dutch communists became less threatening. “Communism changed in some respects, but until now its essence has not,” the head of service Sinninghe Damsté warned to the minister of interior affairs in 1967. The symbolic character prevailed: as long as communist parties were around, they were potentially dangerous.42

4.2 Manipulation in the Political Arena – The Referent Object The referent object of a global communist conspiracy remained in essence the same. Western democracy, culture, and freedom were at stake. Only the dimensions and domains in which to expect communist conspiratorial activities to erupt changed, according to the Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst. On the one hand, the threat became less tangible and therefore it became more difficult to ascertain how the Dutch communists would try to attain their goals. On the other hand, it had become clear that communist activities had shifted from presenting a military threat to becoming a menace on the political and psychological front. In the eyes of the BVD the Soviet Union had merely decided that “military aggression was not a suitable method in these times.” It nevertheless

11778, Memorandum of the Bijzondere Voorlichtingscommissie on the Cold War and psychological warfare, November 1955. 41 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the House of Representatives, entry 2.02.28, inventory number 4735. Some remarks on communism in the United States and the fight against communism. 42 Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Report of meeting between head of the BVD and the minister of Interior Affairs, 8th June 1967.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 191 continued to avail itself of every other thinkable method short of war to expand its power position in the world, according to the head of the security service (Einthoven 1974, 214).43 Communist influence was now less tangible, so in addition to looking for saboteurs in the governmental apparatuses, the security service focused on more refined ways of influence.44 One of the well-tried tactics the communists used, for example, was to infiltrate or manipulate existing political parties and organizations in order to gain influence and maybe steer them into a more procommunist course. The security service therefore maintained close contact with the leaders of political parties, unions, and other societal institutions to monitor whether they had communists in their ranks. In fact, the CPN did attempt to infiltrate various youth organizations in the 1970s, and they were very influential in the pacifist movement and in the organizations opposing nuclear armament in the late 1970s and early 1980s.45 To a certain extent, the BVD was right in suspecting illicit interference of a communist country, for example the German Democratic Republic, in domestic political affairs (De Graaf 2004, 90-6).

4.3 Fighting Communism in a Much More Antagonistic Environment – The Response Because the security service perceived communism as a perennial, unchanging threat, it did not feel the necessity of adapting its own security logics either. It still aspired to know who the communists were and what they did. Although other threatening groups such as student activists and terrorists increasingly demanded the attention of the BVD, the service continued to keep its eyes and ears fixed on the members of the Communist Party of the Netherlands, their internal discussions, and their political plans. Even when a growing anti- anticommunist political and societal environment induced the BVD to adapt and accommodate its anticommunist threat perceptions, despite several internal discussions the BVD continued to frame the threat in an almost metaphysical and highly ideological way. This was exemplified when Minister of Interior Affairs Ed van Thijn tried to end the interference of the Dutch security service BVD in the CPN. In response the head of the security service Pieter de Haan defended the view that it was not ‘the entire communist party’ that was considered a threat, but certain indi-

43 National Archive, The Hague, Archive of the Ministries for General Warfare of the Realm and General Affairs, and the Cabinet of the Prime Minister, entry 2.03.01, inventory number 11930; BVD contribution to a report from the Comité Verenigde Inlichtingendiensten Ne- derland, 10th May 1958. 44 Semi Static Archive of the Algemene Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdienst, Memorandum of A. Kuipers, Sketch for an effective organization of the service, 1959. 45 Proceedings of the House of Representatives, sessions 1979-1980, Document number 15936.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 192 viduals and certain political goals of the organization. This was called ‘the aspect approach’. Because Van Thijn soon afterwards had to step down and gave way to a more negligent minister, the security service was able to continue its operations against the Dutch communists until 1987, when it was decided that the operational activities in the CPN should be terminated (Vos 2004, 36- 7; Engelen 2007, 234-5).

4.4 Potentially, But All Around – Concluding Remarks Due to a détente in international relations and the fact that both parties possessed nuclear weapons, the actual and imminent characteristics of the communist threat changed. It became less probable that war would break out in the short term. This would suggest that the security service would adapt its military and ideological interpretation of the Dutch communist organizations. However, the BVD did not. Although an internal report remarked that the political domain would probably become more important, there was no attempt to ‘desecuritize’ the communist threat and to redirect intelligence resources elsewhere. The security service thus expressed confidently that the ‘peaceful coexistence’ was a farce and that the proclaimed autonomy of the Communist Party of the Netherlands was a tactical maneuver as well. Indeed, instead of becoming less threatening, communism gained even larger threatening proportions. For the BVD, it was clear that the communists were saying different things from what they were actually doing. Therefore their plans became even more subtle, unknowable, and secretive and thus it became increasingly difficult to know when and where communists would become active. We could argue that on the one hand, symbolism exercised an important influence in this period. Given the alleged unchanging nature of the communist ideology, the security service kept on interpreting what the communists did in the light of their original, Marxist-Leninist aim to start a revolution and bring down existing governments. Despite their limited capabilities for actually staging such a coup, its presence made communist parties an unchanging potential threat. On the other hand, mechanisms of cognitive bias accounted for this. As long as this symbolic enemy was present, the security service thought it was relevant to obtain knowledge about what was going on in the Communist Party of the Netherlands; through the years it had obtained an extensive base of knowledge about the communist adversary, so that every new bit of information confirmed the unchanging communist potential for world revolution. ‘Beginning from the known’ was always the directory of intelligence work. Confirming that communism was threatening was the essential way the BVD gathered intelligence. The service did not try to find any information that inval- idated this presupposition (De Valk 1996, 11, 44; Engelen 2007, 44).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 193 5. The Perpetual Adversary

Let us turn once more to the former employee of the BVD in the introduction of this article, who called the disintegration of the Soviet Union a cunning plot. It was seemingly impossible for the Dutch security services to let go of its existential adversary and conceive communism as ‘not threatening any more’ and to scale back its organizational efforts vis-à-vis communism on its own account, despite – for example in the 1930s – the observation that communism had become less of a threat. Only late in the 1980s through political interference did the BVD end its operational activities in Dutch communist organizations. To account for this, instead of ascertaining that the security service was an inward-looking organization, we departed from this observation and proposed the use of insights from securitization and organization theory and intelligence studies to scrutinize the threat perceptions of the Dutch security services. We discerned the referent subject and object of the threat and the security measures in the domestic intelligence domain in three different periods of time (1918-1940, 1940-1960, and 1960-1989) to gain insight into the dynamics with which the threat perceptions of the security services took shape. Looking over this entire period, we understand that the symbolic nature of the communist threat dominated the referent subject and object of the threat perceptions. Symbolism, as we said in the introduction, implies that something by definition refers to something other than itself. Since the revolutionary au- tumn of 1918, Dutch communism represented not what it actually did, but always what it might do, according to its ideology (world communism) and its ties with a foreign power (the Soviet Union). Until the beginning of the 1920s the Central Intelligence Service most importantly feared that communist agitation would spill over from Germany and thus encourage Dutch communists to scale up their aspirations. Although nothing happened and Dutch communism ceased to be as threatening as before because support decreased (only some intellectuals still bothered), the Dutch communist organizations remained an object of the security services’ attention. Through the Second World War, communism became more threatening than ever before. This war had shown how threatening totalitarianism actually was and this put Dutch communism in a new perspective. Stalin now appeared to strive for world domination and in the light of this increasing external threat, the domestic communists transformed into a fifth column: an actual, military and acute political threat, aiming to undermine the political system, the economic order, and the government apparatus. The referent object switched from public order and authority to Dutch national security and that of the free world as a whole, united in the military alliance of NATO. The actual communist supportive base seemed greater than ever. After Stalin’s death in 1953 and more clearly after the Cuban missile crisis of 1962, détente set in. Military aggression by the Soviet Union became less

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 194 likely, since both power blocs disposed of nuclear weaponry. Dutch communists transformed from an acute military into a less tangible, political, and psychological threat. The referent subject and object became increasingly vague and abstract. But although its shape might have changed, the BVD argued, its essence had not. The communist menace was still a menace. Peaceful coexistence was a farce and although it was practically inconceivable that the CPN was capable of staging a revolution, the BVD continued to interpret the activities of the Dutch communist organizations. To understand this, we have to recognize the powerful symbols in the communist threat. Although the conspiratorial character remained essentially the same, due to the perceived essentialism attribute given to the communist ideology, the employment of this symbolic significance varied over time. Refer- ences to their potential threatening character increased in the security services’ reports whenever the vivid memory of past threats started to dissolve, which happened in the 1930s and from the 1960s on. During these periods the symbolic elements, i.e. the references to the ideology and conspiratorial nature of communism, emerged more frequently in the reports of the security services. The exact object of the threat and the timeframe became increasingly vague in these periods. To explain this in securitization terms, the communist threat was never desecuritized, i.e. never pushed into the domain of normal politics. Neither the referent subject nor the referent object of the communist threat changed in such a way that the security service considered it no longer necessary to monitor it. When changes occurred, the rationalizations and depictions of the communist threat changed, but the responses were never a decrease in efforts. These remained the same or increased throughout the entire period. Communism was never considered part of the ‘normal’, or bona fide political domain. Besides this, ‘cognitive closure’ and organizational theory help to account for this. From the Second World War on, ‘beginning from the known’ was the leading intelligence principle. All intelligence gathered on the Dutch communist organizations since then confirmed the same thing: communism was dangerous. Every mutation, utterance, thought, in fact even trivial fact that was related to the communist threat obtained significance because of this mechanism. All new information confirmed the threatening character of Dutch communism, pointing to past experiences and timeless, metaphysical threat perceptions, rather than to actual political developments. These inward-oriented and closed threat assessments were caused by the institutionalization of the domestic intelligence function. Louis Einthoven structured the postwar security services in such a way that the services were best equipped to oppose communism. The security services specialized in methods and techniques, which they refined year in year out, to gather intelligence on extremist organizations and individuals. They kept doing so, because they were good at that. Moreover, the service’s resources profited highly from this threat

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 195 perception. This might explain the interest of the security service in holding onto its traditional adversary until far into the 1980s. Only when the organization was fundamentally transformed and the political establishment demanded change was the well-known communist adversary let go.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 198 Palmer, Robert R. 2007 (10th edition). A history of the modern world since 1815. New York: McGraw-Hill Education. Posthumus Meijes, Herman C. 1958. De enquêtecommissie is van oordeel: een samenvatting van het parlementaire onderzoek naar het regeringsbeleid in de oorlogsjaren. Arnhem: Van Loghum Slaterus. Roe, Paul. 2004. Securitization and minority rights. Security dialogue 35 (3): 279- 94. Scheffer, H. J. 1968. November 1918. Journaal van een revolutie die niet doorging. Amsterdam: Arbeiderspers. Traa, Mark. 2009. De Russen komen: Nederland in de Koude Oorlog. Amsterdam Athenaeum Polak& Van Gennep. Van der Boom, Bart. 2001. Oorlogsangst in Nederland. Leidschrift 16 (1): 7-34. Verrips, Ger. 1995. Dwars, duivels en dromend: De geschiedenis van de CPN 1938-1991. Amsterdam: Balans. Vos, Chris, and Rens Broekhuis. 2004. De geheime dienst; verhalen over de BVD. Amsterdam: Boom. Waever, Ole. 1996. European security studies. Journal of common market studies 34 (1): 103-132. Warner, Michael. 2009. Intelligence as risk shifting. In Intelligence theory: key questions and debates, ed. Peter Gill, Stephen Marrin, and Mark Phythian, 16-32. London and New York: Routledge. Wijne, Johan S. 1999. De vergissing van Troelstra. Hilversum: Verloren. Witte, Gerardus T. 1989. Wanneer de Russische beer aan de deur krabt... De Neder- landse visieop de Sovjetunie in de internationale politiek (1942-1948). In De lage landen en de Sovjetunie. Beeldvorming en betrekkingen, ed. Maria L. Roholl, Cees Willemsen, and Emanuel Wagemans, 28-41. Amsterdam: Mets. Witte, Gerardus T. 1990. Een verre vijand komt naderbij. De diplomatieke betrekkingen van Nederland met de Sovjetunie, 1942-1953. Kampen: Mondiss.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 199 ‘International Terrorism’ as Conspiracy: Debating Terrorism in the League of Nations

∗ Ondrej Ditrych

Abstract: »’Internationaler Terrorismus‘ als Verschwörung: Debatten über Ter- rorismus im Völkerbund «. This paper aims at historicizing terrorism by focusing attention on how the current dominant discursive patterns, constituent elements of the ‘global terrorism’ dispositive, have come to existence. It brings to the fore the first robust international debate on terrorism which took place in the League of Nations following the Marseilles assassination (1934) and shows its conspiratorial features, many of which are detectable in the discourse of terrorism among states after 9/11. Keywords: terrorism, conspiracy, League of Nations, Marseilles, Foucault.

1. Introduction

Less than an hour after Alexander I Karadordevic, the king of Yugoslavia, arrived at Marseilles aboard the cruiser Dubrovnik, he was shot dead. The significance of the event, which took place in the afternoon of 9 October 1934 – and in which the French foreign minister Barthou also perished – is yet to be recognized in the history of terrorism. It stimulated the first robust debate among states on the subject. The results of this debate, which took place within the premises of the League of Nations in Geneva, were the Convention for the Prevention and Punishment of Terrorism and the Convention for the Creation of an International Criminal Court.1 Together they laid the foundations of the first robust international regime to face the new ‘global’ threat of terrorism by means of globalized surveillance, normalized punishment of the terrorist, and discipline in terms of stipulating what was the proper state behavior with respect to the terrorist threatening other sovereignties in the existing international political order (for an overview of the debate from a legal perspective see in particular Zlataric 1975; Saul 2006). The reason why the standard histories of terrorism tend to pass over the subject is twofold. First, it is because this regime, intended to fill a ‘gap in interna-

∗ Ondrej Ditrych, Institute of International Relations Prague, Nerudova 3, 118 50 Praha 1, Czech Republic; [email protected]. 1 League of Nations, doc. C.546.M.383.1937.VII and doc. C.547.M.384.1937.VII.

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 200-210 Ň© GESIS tional organization,’2 failed to materialize. Indeed, the conventions, while signed by a number of parties, were not even ratified. The cause of this failure was the uncontrolled escalation of a systemic crisis that the regime was intended to contain – an argument developed in more detail below. The second reason has to do with the nature of these histories themselves. A distinct characteristic of many of them (e.g. Lacqueur 2001; Hoffman 2006; Rapoport, 2006) is a present concept of ‘terrorism’ projected backwards into the past. Such linear projection effectively endows ‘terrorism’ with a certain essential and eternal substance – and hence a spatio-temporal unity – while allowing for (evolving) mutability of only the accidental properties. In the period of the Marseilles assassination, these histories tend to focus on the ‘state terror’ in Bolshevik Russia or the ‘rising wave’ of ethnic nationalist terrorism in places such as Palestine, two phenomena constitutive for the resulting terrorism patchwork in which political assassinations also have their place, but only in the more distant past. This paper is grounded in a different approach. Its aim is to historicize terrorism by focusing attention on how the current dominant discursive patterns, which are argued to constitute key elements of the ‘global terrorism’ dispositive, have come into existence. The importance of the League of Nations debate as the first, and violent, Entstehung of ‘terrorism’ in the discourse among states, is beyond doubt when such a perspective is assumed. More specifically, the paper points to how ‘international terrorism’ in this debate was conceived of as a conspiracy, suggesting that it was precisely the conspiratorial relationship between the terrorist and the revisionist state that defined the political violence constructed as terrorism as emergency. Terrorism was conceived of as a new and radical threat, first and foremost, because of this unholy alliance and because, as a consequence, it was conceived of as an instrument of state policy.

2. Terrorism as Conspiracy: Some Theoretical Reflections

The particular strategy in which security is historicized by authors in this Spe- cial Issue is through the introduction of states’ security dispositives and pointing to their close relationships to discourses of conspiracy. As De Graaf and Zwierlein (2013, in this HSR Special Issue) note, such discourses of conspiracy tend to be characterized, among other things, by the following. They are attributive (referring to another); they feature a strong transnational element (thus challenging the inside/outside as the defining logic of modern sovereignty as a producer of security); they have a potentially destructive effect on the current

2 League of Nations, Official Journal, Records of the Seventeenth Ordinary Session of the Assembly, Special Supplement no. 156 (1936), Minutes of the First Committee.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 201 social order (threatening its annihilation); they are ‘epistemologically impossible’; and they invoke a sense of urgency, immediacy and inevitability. All these features are present, as demonstrated in the empirical analysis below, in the states’ discourse of terrorism in the 1930s. (The only qualification relates to the epistemological impossibility of proving the conspiracy, as it is suggested that conscious attempts to lay down evidence for its existence were made. However, while the production of this evidence meant to follow the criminal proceedings standards, it is suggested to be rather inadequate to ‘prove’ the conspiracy to the extent imagined by those who postulated it.) The ‘conspiracy’ – analyzed in functional rather than ‘truth’ categories – may thus be conceived of as orienting this historical discourse, which in turn seems to be genealogically related to the current discourse of terrorism as a constitutive element of the ‘global terrorism’ dispositive. While the analysis below seeks to point out the securitizing actors, how the referent subject is defined, the way it is perceived, the temporal relationship between the plot and the conspiracy discourse and the (conceived) new modes of security governance, emergency is not assumed in the dispositive claim to be related to sovereignty through politics of exception and decisionism (as the categories borrowed from the Copenhagen School conceptual apparatus might suggest). Instead, drawing on Foucault’s conception of the dispositive as a complex edifice (Foucault 2007, 8), it is assumed that in the ‘global terrorism’ dispositive different governmentalities (sovereignty, discipline, security, and biopolitics) are combined, producing an assemblage of both exceptional (war) and normalizing (administration, police) practices. Therefore, even though the role of sovereignty in the current security management apparatuses ought not to be underestimated (cf. Amoore and De Goede 2005; Amoore 2006; Butler 2006; Aradau and Van Munster 2007; Bigo 2008), it is postulated that the exception invoked and legitimized by the discourse of conspiracy not only produces prohibition, coercion and punishment, but it also enters into a complex relationship with the practices of normation.

3. Terrorism and the League of Nations

From the formal point of view, the terrorism debate in the League of Nations can be divided in two stages: the immediate aftermath of the Marseilles assassination, and the later period. The Marseilles events provoked a debate in the League’s Council, based on the request by Yugoslavia under Art. 11/2 of the Covenant, relating to a circumstance affecting international relations and threatens to disturb international peace.3 Based on a proposal submitted by

3 Doc. C.506.M.225.1934.VII.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 202 France, a decision was passed by the Council to create a committee of experts (representing their governments) that would prepare two conventions – one on the prevention and punishment of terrorism, the other on an international criminal court. The Committee held three sessions (1934-1936), while terrorism was also discussed in parallel in the Assembly’s First Committee, and the League’s member states were asked three times to submit their written comments. Finally, the diplomatic conference (with attendance not limited to the League’s members) was convened by the Council to discuss the two draft conventions (1937).4 The reasons why the case was successfully brought before the Council and why the statements in the first period betrayed a particular conspiratorial attribution to Hungary had to do with (Central) European alliance politics aimed at balancing Hungary’s and Bulgaria’s revisionist tendencies after WWI (supported by Italy, which had an unresolved conflict with Yugoslavia over Dalmatia) – i.e. Little Entente and the Balkan Pact, both including Yugoslavia and both linked to France. All countries involved in these alliances supported Belgrade’s motion but France and Britain opposed involving Italy in the attribution moves (some of the conspirators in the Marseilles plot, namely Ante Paveliü and Eu- gen Kvaternik, escaped to Italy in its aftermath where they continued to reside safely under the protection of the Fascist regime) as they were seeking at this time a rapprochement with Mussolini to balance the rise of Hitler’s Germany. What this ‘chessboard’ analysis fails to explain is why Marseilles, framed as ‘terrorism’ – even though the concept had anything but a precise meaning in the general discourse at that time and before (used for actions violent and non- violent; sustaining the state or undermining it; for breeches of the jus in bello, industrial actions or the local government inaction in enforcing a rule of law) – was brought before the League in the first place; why a debate of an unprecedented intensity followed; and why it culminated in developing a comprehensive international regime to prevent and punish terrorism. Explanations for that are to be sought at the more abstract level of the international order. Emergence of the discourse of international terrorism in the aftermath of the Marseilles assassination may then be interpreted as a strategic response to the emergency caused by the general crisis of this order, and the envisioned regime then serving the purpose of preserving the hegemonically imposed and now crumbling status quo in terms of a particular political constellation by reinforcing the (imagined) unity in the face of a conspiratorial adversary and, in a broader sense, to prevent disintegration of the normative fundaments of this order and its slide into what Schmitt, somewhat bombastically, called a ‘global civil war’ (Schmitt 2003). Two paradoxes seem to have been entailed in this move. While the unprecedented threat that terrorism represented grew from the conspiracy

4 Doc. C.255.1937.V.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 203 between the terrorist and the (revisionist) state, at the same time the former tended to be alienated from the ‘community of states’ standing for civilization and order (for example, by the trope of him “driving a wedge” into this community).5 Secondly, the counter-terrorism regime designed to check the pending international crisis grew out of the same (universalist) principles – supported by the legal knowledge of ‘progressive codification of international law’ – that, at least in Schmitt’s analysis (Schmitt 2003, 227ff.), made the crisis possible in the first place. The conspiratorial elements featured in the debate throughout. In terms of attribution, the accusing statements in the first period, coming predominantly from the Little Entente countries, strove to establish a close cooperative relationship between the Ustaša (the terrorist organization) and Hungary (the state). What united the two schemers at the abstract level was the (alleged) intent to overthrow the existing state of affairs materialized in the national boundaries they both challenged,6 thus threatening anarchy and international chaos.7 The conspiratorial character of their association was forcefully asserted. Yugoslavia would describe the Marseilles events as “nothing but expression of a conspiracy against the integrity and security of the Yugoslav State, organised and fostered by Hungary,” and a culmination of terrorism “inspired and abetted for years on Hungarian territory.”8 Czechoslovakia declared itself to be threatened by acts of terrorism as ‘individual invasion’ performed by the apparatus of the Hungarian state and its ‘associations’ abroad with the aim of undermining its territorial integrity.9 Thus the conspiracy’s reach was broadened and was not limited to the link between Hungarian government and the Croat nationalists. The revisionist state at the centre of the conspiracy, whose tentacles included minorities in the new states of Central Europe, nonetheless remained. Hungary’s involvement was established in two ways. Certain Hungarian army officers were alleged to collaborate directly with the Ustaša, providing its members with false passports and other material assistance. Moreover, ethnic Hungarian associations abroad, namely in Czechoslovakia, were directly linked to the government in Budapest in “a whole apparatus of conspiracy.”10 The evidence summoned to prove these claims drew mainly on two depositions

5 Cf. League of Nations, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934), statement by the Soviet Union; see also C.R.T.18 (1936), amendment by the Soviet Union. 6 Doc. C.518.M.234.1934.VII. As the new French foreign minister Laval famously put it, “any person who tries to remove a frontier mark disturbs the peace of Europe.” League of Na- tions, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934). 7 Doc. C.506.M.225.1934.VII. 8 League of Nations, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934), Council Minutes, statement by Yugoslavia. 9 League of Nations, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934), Council Minutes, statement by Czechoslovakia. 10 Doc. C.518.M.234.1934.VII, statement by Yugoslavia.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 204 made in criminal proceedings by a certain Vinco Mihalus and Jelka Podgore- lec.11 The second attribution of responsibility was indirect: it was simply inconceivable that Hungary had no knowledge of the terrorist ‘camps’ on its territory. The archetypical terrorist camp of the 1930s, Janka Puszta, a small farmstead located only a few miles from the Hungarian border with Yugosla- via, could “not exist in an organised country without the consent and assistance of authorities.”12 Therefore, Budapest effectively provided the state territory as a base for terrorist activities abroad. As a result of a political compromise, in the final resolution by the Council it was not the Hungarian government but instead ‘certain authorities’ that were declared responsible for the Marseilles assassination. Moreover, Little En- tente’s pressure notwithstanding, no supervision of measures to be taken by Hungary to suppress international terrorist activities was established. Instead, a comprehensive international regime was to be devised, and terrorism hence remained on the agenda of the League of Nations for three more years. While the debate was removed from the immediate context of the Marseilles event and hence attribution statements receded, other typical elements of the discourse of conspiracy were preserved. Terrorism would therefore be conceived of as a transnational phenomenon, defying the spatially delimited sovereignty on which the existing international order was based. In disguise and armed with false identity papers, the terrorist moved freely across the borders, not only threatening the political order inside and the peace outside, but also undermining the fundamental signification of the existing state power; a grid through which it could be interpreted. He inhab- ited the dark side of globalization, preying on the increased structural vulnerability of the international order caused by the growing international interde- pendence13 and the “advancing knowledge and improved communications.”14 The destructive capabilities of terrorism/the alliance between the terrorist and the revisionist state would be emphasized. In particular, what it threatened (and which was thus discursively securitized) was order and civilization. The Marseilles events brought about a ”state of anarchy and alarm in Europe”15 and could have far-reaching consequences in terms of making “organized government impossible”.16 From the Little Entente’s perspective, the new political constellation following WWI finally brought justice to Europe by concluding the process of national unification as a “historic and inescapable necessity.” The conspiracy, resisting “irresistible natural forces”, was aimed at undermin-

11 Doc. C.506.M.225.1934.VII. 12 League of Nations, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934). 13 Doc. Conf.R.T./P.V.3 (1937), Minutes of the Diplomatic Conference, statement by Haiti. 14 Doc. Conf.R.T./P.V.1 (1937), Minutes of the Diplomatic Conference. 15 League of Nations, Official Journal, vol. 15, no. 11 (Dec. 1934), Council Minutes, statement by Turkey. 16 Doc. C.506.M.225.1934.VII, statement by Yugoslavia.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 205 ing this new order and reversing the linear process toward freedom and peace to which national unification as “one of the laws governing the history of Eu- rope” pointed.17 The primary referent object in the catastrophic visions given shape in the debate was the state (‘organized government’), a constituent unit of the international order which, if lack of discipline, poverty and suffering were to prevail inside the state boundaries18 (brought about inevitably through the involvement of another state), would perish too, taking civilization down with it. The destructive potential of the terrorist as modern barbarian was (discursively) reinforced by his location not ante portas of the civilized world, but – a courtesy of the conspiring state – inside it; and secondly, because the terrorist disrespected the elementary civilizational norms imposing limits on violence (thus being morally located in the past age of darkness) while, at the same time, benefiting from human progress and its technological achievements when constructing his diabolic machines. Pointing to the destructive capabilities of terrorism in combination with its transnational character would facilitate a rendering of the threat as particularly new and serious, and consequently warranting exceptional responses. Terror- ism was something ‘entirely new in European public law’19 (understood in the broader sense of order, rather than a corpus of legislation) and it ushered in a period of “anarchy and international barbarism [which] would overwhelm the civilised world, in which the most elementary foundations of international peace would inevitably disappear.”20 No single state or alliance of states could defend itself against this contagion.21 Hence, a robust joint action, featuring elements of punishment, surveillance and discipline was necessary if there was any hope to be left for the “future of civilization”22 – the first “coalition against terrorism”.

4. Conclusion: Toward the Critique of the Global Terrorism Dispositive

The discourse on terrorism among states today, comprising statements enunci- ated in the United Nations and elsewhere, features a strong conspiratorial character, repeating the tropes of attribution, transnationality and catastrophe en-

17 Ibid., statement by Czechoslovakia. 18 Doc. C.R.T.1 (1935), Committee for the Repression of Terrorism, Responses of Governments. 19 League of Nations, Official Journal, Records of the Seventeenth Ordinary Session of the Assembly, Special Supplement no. 156 (1936), Minutes of the First Committee, statement by Haiti. 20 Doc. C.506.M.225.1934.VII. 21 Doc. Conf.R.T./P.V.1(1937), Minutes of the Diplomatic Conference. 22 League of Nations, Official Journal, Records of the Seventeenth Ordinary Session of the Assembly, Special Supplement no. 156 (1936), Minutes of the First Committee.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 206 countered in the 1930s debate. The adversary’s identity is again constituted in totality, threatening order, civilization and humanity. Thus it makes it possible to associate with terrorists, territorially dispersed actors of different kinds and diverse political agendas. “Despite the fact that terrorism is multifaceted, its nature is one and the same, and at its roots lies a doctrinaire egoism which has been raised by its followers to the highest level of evil, intolerance and cruelty.”23 It is once more posited as a new and unprecedented threat (“the greatest of new dangers”);24 a ‘scourge’ (a term familiar in the 1930s debate) disturbing the conscience of the (ordered, civilized and human) world. The emergency produced by the terrorist conspiracy is most significantly the consequence of the terrorist’s negation of both spatial and moral limits. Terrorism knows no boundaries or nationality, spreading to all corners of the world and making no country, including great powers, immune against its strike.25 The lack of immunity is a recurring moment in the discourse, constituting part and parcel of a broader set of statements made by the states about terrorism as disease – either cancer or plague (stressing its contagious nature and uncontrollable spread)26 or madness (pointing to its irrationality, again transferrable to those so far sane).27 Terrorism also transgresses the (civilizational) norms on the limits of violence, once more benefiting in its own malign way from the forces of progress, most notably through (the catastrophic possibility of) the use of weapons of mass destruction (cf. Cameron 2004). Two important discontinuities between the 1930s and the current discourse seem to emerge, however. First, the character of the terrorist conspiracy is altered insofar as its fundamental feature – and an emergency ‘propeller’ – is not the unholy alliance between the terrorist and a (revisionist) state. No longer is the terrorist an extended instrument of state policy. Indeed, the rogue states of today can unproblematically be associated with the global terrorist move-

23 Doc. A/59/PV.12 (2004), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Turkmenistan. 24 Doc. A/56/PV.7 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Russia. 25 Doc. A/56/PV.9 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Bhutan; A/56/PV.12 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Ukraine, Burkina Faso, Algeria; A/56/PV.18 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by the United Kingdom; A/56/PV.14 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Pakistan, Yemen; A/56/PV.15 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Oman; A/56/PV.17, Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Nicaragua; A/56/PV.20 (2001), statement by Myanmar; A/56/PV.21 (2001), statement by Nauru; A/C.6/64/SR.9 (2009), Minutes of the Sixth Committee, statement by Trinidad and Tobago; S/PV.4370 (2001), Minutes of Security Council, statement by Mauritius. 26 Cf. Doc. A/56/PV.12 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by the United States; A/56/PV.18 (2001), statement by Tanzania; S/PV.6128 (2009), Minutes of Security Council, statement by the United States. 27 Cf. Doc. A/56/PV.8 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Uruguay; A/56/PV.9 (2001), statement by the Netherlands; S/PV.4370 (2001), Minutes of Security Council, statement by the Ukraine.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 207 ment; yet they do not appear necessary for its function. The terrorist conspiracy is ‘real’, its dominantly rendered morphology being one of a transnational network28 penetrating through the national boundaries and negating the difference between external and internal security. (Alternatively, it is imagined as an octopus, with its “destructive tentacles” reaching to all societies.29) But it can do without the conspiring state. Moreover, unlike in the 1930s the possibility of state failure as a facilitating condition for the terrorist to thrive is not only accepted, but must be actively eliminated. The failed state is constituted as a ‘sick man’ of the normal international order which needs to be cured through ‘state- building’ to prevent the contagion of terrorism from taking root there and metastizing further. Second, this discourse is now a constitutive element of what I suggest is a ‘global terrorism’ dispositive, a developed ensemble of discursive and nondis- cursive practices which comprises both the more conventionally ‘exceptional’ practices of war, ‘regime change’, ‘state-building’ and reducing the terrorist to ‘bare life’ in the camp (Butler 2002, cf. Agamben 1998); preemptive risk management techniques for governing mobilities in the neoliberal economy through the emergence of a biometric state (Amoore 2006; Aradau and Van Munster 2007; De Goede 2008); and the multitude of practices at the new nexi of geo- politics and biopolitics (Dillon 2007; Kiersey and Stokes 2010), and surveillance and discipline (Lyon 2003; Bigo 2008). All these components, variably impressing on states, populations or individual human bodies (whether the citizen’s, migrant’s, or terrorist’s) are strategically arranged through the concept of ‘terrorism’ and legitimized with reference to the catastrophic possibility of a future terror event (cf. Aradau and Van Munster 2011; on temporality and conspiracy see also Zwierlein, in this HSR Special Issue). To posit the existence of such a ‘global terrorism’ dispositive is not to posit a grand design behind it and create a monstrous, monumental unity where there is none. Indeed, the dispositive as conceived by Foucault is a strategic response to emergency (cf. Agamben 2009), and there is an overall rationality in orienting, through the dispositive, the multiplicity of forces in the social field. But as power is subjectless and tactically polyvalent, this can only be a rationality of a ‘machine’ (Kelly 2009, 46). Historicizing the constitutive elements of this dispositive is therefore not intended to decapitate the tyrannical sovereign; but rather to make, with Foucault, “facile gestures difficult” (Foucault 1988, 155)

28 Cf. Docs. A/56/PV.12 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statements by the United States and Algeria; A/56/PV.8 (2001), statement by Brazil; A/56/PV.14 (2001), statements by Iceland and Yugoslavia; A/56/PV.20 (2001), statement by Laos; A/57/PV.3 (2002), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Equatorial Guinea; S/PV.5261 (2005), Minutes of Security Council, statement by the United States. 29 Cf. Docs. A/56/PV.9 (2001), Minutes of General Assembly, statement by Pakistan; A/56/PV.15 (2001), statement by Bhutan; A/56/PV.18 (2001), statement by Senegal.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 208 and to engage in the continuous process of liberation from the straitjacket that this machine imposes on our political possibilities.

References

Agamben, Giorgio. 1998. Homo Sacer: Sovereign Power and Bare Life. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Agamben, Giorgio. 2009. What is an Apparatus and Other Essays. Palo Alto: Stan- ford University Press. Amoore, Louise. 2006. Biometric Borders: Governing Mobilities in the War on Terror. Political Geography 25 (3): 336-51. Amoore, Louise. 2009. Algorithmic War: Everyday Geographies of the War on Terror. Antipode 41 (1): 49-69. Aradau, Claudia and Rens van Munster. 2007. Governing Terrorism Through Risk. European Journal of International Relations 13 (1): 89-115. Aradau, Claudia and Rens van Munster. 2011. Politics of Catastrophe. London: Routledge. Bigo, Didier. 2008. Security: A Field Left Fallow. In Foucault on Politics, Security and War, ed. Michael Dillon and Andrew Neal, 93-114. London: Palgrave Mac- millan. Butler, Judith. 2002. Guantanamo Limbo. The Nation, April 1: 20-4. Butler, Judith. 2006. Precarious Life: The Powers of Mourning and Violence. Lon- don: Verso. Cameron, Gavin. 2004. Weapons of Mass Destruction Terrorism Research: Past and Future. In Research on Terrorism: Trends, Achievements and Failures, ed. Andrew Silke, 72-90. London: Frank Cass. De Goede, Marieke. 2008. The Politics of Preemption and the War on Terror in Europe. European Journal of International Relations 14 (1): 161-85. De Graaf, Beatrice and Cornel Zwierlein. 2013. Historicizing Security – Entering the Conspiracy Dispositive. Historical Social Research 38 (1): 46-64. Dillon Michael. 2007. Governing Terror: The State of Emergency of Biopolitical Emergence. International Political Sociology 1 (1): 7-28. Foucault, Michel. 1988. Practising Criticism. In Michel Foucault: Politics, Philoso- phy, Culture – Interviews and Other Writings 1977-1984, ed. Lawrence Kritz- man, 152-6. London: Routledge. Foucault, Michel. 2007. Security, Territory, Population. London: Palgrave Macmil- lan. Hoffman, Bruce. 2006. Inside Terrorism. New York: Columbia University Press. Kelly, Mark. 2009. The Political Philosophy of Michel Foucault. New York: Routledge. Kiersey, Nicholas and Doug Stokes, eds. 2010. Foucault and International Rela- tions: New Critical Engagements. London: Routledge. Lacqueur, Walter. 2001. A History of Terrorism. New Brunswick: Transaction Publishers. Lyon, David. 2003. Surveillance after September 11. London: Polity. Rapoport, David. 2006. Terrorism. London: Routledge.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 209 Saul, Ben. 2006. The Legal Response of the League of Nations to Terrorism. Jour- nal of International Criminal Justice 4 (1): 78-102. Schmitt, Carl. 2003. Nomos of the Earth in the International Law of Jus Publicum Europeanum. New York: Telos. Zlataric, Bogdan. 1975. History of International Terrorism and its Legal Control. In International Terrorism and Political Crimes, ed. M. Cherif Bassiouni. Spring- field, 474-84. IL: Charles C. Thomas. Zwierlein, Cornel. 2013. Security Politics and Conspiracy Theories in the emerging European state system (15th/16th c.). HSR 38 (1): 65-95.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 210 The Communist Menace in Finsterwolde: Conspiring against Local Authorities? A Case Study on the Dutch Battle against Communism, 1945-1951

∗ Susanne Keesman

Abstract: »Die kommunistische Bedrohung in Finsterwolde: Eine Konspiration gegen die lokalen Behörden? Eine Fallstudie zum niederländischen Kampf gegen den Kommunismus, 1945-1951«. Since the municipal elections of 1946 (and before in the period 1935-1939), the Communist party had held an absolute majority of seats in the city council of Finsterwolde, a small municipality in the north of the Netherlands. In 1951, the Dutch parliament adopted a custom bill to dismiss this “Little Moscow”. This article reconstructs the decision- making process that preceded the bill in order to analyze the way the communist threat was framed and securitized. For the administration, legitimizing this rather unique move in Dutch history was essential in order to uphold their democratic standards. The focus of this article is therefore twofold. Both the methods the administration used to invest the communists in Finsterwolde with an aura of imminent threat and the communist reactions to these allegations are discussed. Keywords: Cold War, communism, Netherlands, securitization.

1. Introduction

On November 3, 1950, the Dutch government filed a bill in parliament to dismiss the municipal government of Finsterwolde, a small village in the north of the Netherlands. Since the municipal elections of 1946 (and shortly before in the period 1935-1939) the Communist Party of the Netherlands (Communis- tische Partij Nederland, CPN) had held an absolute majority of seats in the city council. According to the memorandum of explanation that was filed with the bill, CPN rule had led to a situation in which the local authorities systematically counteracted the principles of good governance. The government therefore argued that the city council and the two communist aldermen were to be removed from office. The mayor, who in the Netherlands is appointed by the Queen rather than through elections, would take over Finsterwolde’s administration until further notice.

∗ Susanne Keesman, Centre for Terrorism and Counterterrorism, Institute for History, Leiden University, Postbus 13228, 2501 EE The Hague, Netherlands; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 211-231 Ň© GESIS At first glance, the measures in Finsterwolde seem to fit within a broader fear of communism in the Netherlands. Scholars like Mark Traa (2009) have demonstrated how the Dutch government drafted various secret plans that would be operated in the case of a future Russian invasion or Third World War. Public opinion about the communist threat shifted after an initial upsurge of sympathy for the communist part in the resistance during the Second World War: the popular fear of a Third World War increased to seventy-five percent in 1948 (Van den Boom 2001, 8). At the same time, within the subsequent administrations, the communist threat was perceived as latent rather than urgent. In 1946, Willem Drees, minister of social affairs in the Schermerhorn- Drees administration,1 stated that speaking about Russia, the prime minister [Wim Schermerhorn] has already expressed his opinion, that there was no imminent threat from this side. He also reckoned that the CPN and her affiliated organizations would not deploy any open activities, as long as Russia kept itself aloof.2 In 1950, the parliamentary Commission for the Coordination of the Intelligence and Security Services (Commissie van Coördinatie van de Inlichtingen- en Veiligheidsdiensten, CCIV) expressed a similar view. The CCIV advised the administration to adopt stronger measures against communism in order to at least create the public impression that the government was taking the communist threat seriously. At the same time, the commission agreed that an imminent invasion was not feasible, but it was important to mobilize the population and raise their awareness of potential communist subversions and fifth column activities (De Graaff and Wiebes 1992, 55-7). Because of the contrast between government actions, statements and popular perception, the Finsterwolde case cannot be discarded as a logical consequence of the dominant anti-communist climate. In this paper, we will discuss the framing of the communist threat regarding the Finsterwolde case. We will reconstruct the decision-making process that preceded the bill in order to analyze the way the communist threat was securitized, based on government archives, minutes of parliamentary debates and newspaper articles. This article focuses on the legitimization of this process and the way the communists tried to counter the allegations by operating a conspiracy dispositive. This becomes

1 The Schermerhorn-Drees administration was appointed by the Queen after the Second World War without general elections. Wim Schermerhorn, a social democrat (Partij van de Arbeid, PvdA) became prime minister. Willem Drees (PvdA) was appointed minister for Social Affairs. This administration lasted from 24 June 1945 until 3 July 1946. The administration was succeeded by Beel I, in which Drees remained the minister for Social Affairs. On August 7, 1948, Drees formed his own administration after the elections of July 7, and became prime minister, which he remained until 1958. 2 Report of an audience with Prime Minister Schermerhorn (11 February 1946) National Archives, The Hague (further referred to as NL-HaNA), Bur. Nationale Veiligheid. Acc. 2.04.80, entry 3753.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 212 clear in the 1950 and 1951 parliamentary debates about the government bill to suspend Finsterwolde’s administrative authorities. Now Prime Minister Willem Drees was responding to allegations by communist representatives. The communists had suggested that western countries were conspiring to simultaneously overthrow democratically elected communist councils throughout Europe, as councils in France and Italy were sent home as well. Drees countered these allegations by pointing to an international communist conspiracy in the making: “Communists are acting along the same lines in different countries, based on general methods. In the end, the democratic countries have to defend themselves against this in the same way.”3 In this debate, two conspiracy theories were introduced. The communists launched their anticommunist conspiracy specter, countered by the prime minister himself who accused the communists in turn of participating in a global communist scheme. Besides this, the communist press, an important non-political actor, also implied the existence of an American scheme and a plot by rich landowners in Finsterwolde. For the government, legitimizing this rather unique move in Dutch history – of expelling local authorities from office – was essential in order to uphold their democratic standards.4 The focus of this article is therefore twofold. Both the methods that the government used to invest the communists in Finsterwolde with an aura of imminent threat and the communist reactions that aimed to counter these allegations are discussed. Securitization theory is used as a conceptual tool kit in order to highlight the actors, discourse and legitimization processes that played a role in this case study. According to Balzacq (2011), whose definition is followed in this article, securitization is an articulated assemblage of practices whereby heuristic artifacts (metaphors, policy tools, image repertoires, […], etc.) are contextually mobilized by a securitizing actor, who works to prompt an audience to build a coherent network of implications (feelings, sensations, thoughts and intuition) about a critical vulnerability of a referent object, that concurs with the securitizing actor’s reasons for choices and actions, by investing the referent subject with such an aura of unprecedented threatening complexion that a customized policy must be undertaken immediately to block its development (Balzacq 2011, 3). In the following chapters, first, the proximate and distal contexts will be discussed. Second, the deliberations and discussions regarding the Finsterwolde case within the administration are analyzed. In the third place, parliamentary

3 Minutes of the House of Representatives of the Dutch Parliament (further referred to as HTK) 19th assembly: “Vervolg algemene beraadslagingen over de rijksbegroting voor het dienstjaar 1951” (November 15, 1950), p. 478. 4 Beatrice de Graaf has defined legitimization in the introduction of this special issue as a process of normative evaluation from which the “ascribed quality of legitimacy” emerges (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 213 debates and public discourse on the necessity and legitimacy of the interference in Finsterwolde will be addressed.

2. Context

In 1946, the first postwar parliamentary elections resulted in ten seats for the CPN. The established political parties almost immediately excluded the communists from government participation as the distrust that had already existed before the Second World War resurfaced due to the Cold War. Since the CPN still aligned itself with Moscow, prewar anticommunist sentiments and mistrust of the Soviet Union continued. The CPN was consequently regarded as a fifth column in the Netherlands (Engelen 1998, 169-70). Additionally, within Dutch culture, which at that time can be characterized as moderate bourgeois and pillarized, a general dislike and fear of all types of extremism existed. In politics, difficult issues might be polarized in public, but were stripped of their ideological charge behind the scenes. Divergent ideological elites made their mutual decisions based on consultation and agreement. Public order and political moderation were valued over ideological purity, which explains why both left-wing and right-wing extremism were heavily frowned upon, as it was believed they subverted public order and violated the political customs (Blom 2007, 346-9). Even though this ideal of moderation prevailed, the immediate postwar situation with its political uncertainty bore fruit in a more extreme direction. Not only did communists gain some public approval, but right-wing militias (the so-called weerbaarheidsorganisaties) were established and became popular as well. These militias were set up by former resistance fighters and inspired by the popular consensus that the government was taking too little action against communism. These right-wing militias thus put pressure on the government to at least publicly stand up against communism (De Graaff and Wiebes 1992, 54- 5; Krijnen 1983). In 1950, the issue of the right-wing paramilitaries was one of the topics on the agenda of the CCIV. The commission suggested that the government had to take a stronger position against communism by taking visible measures. This way, the government could create the impression that they were serious about fighting communism – although the commission agreed that a communist takeover or revolt was not likely at all (De Graaff and Wiebes 1992, 54-7). Never- theless, the Dutch domestic security service (Binnenlandse Veiligheidsdienst, BVD) and its predecessors made the CPN their prime target. In their intelligence reports, the CPN was characterized as a mouthpiece of Moscow and a fifth column in the Netherlands (Engelen 1998, 168-77). Notwithstanding these BVD reports, the United States regarded the threat of communist revolts in the Netherlands as marginal compared to communist uprisings elsewhere in Eu-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 214 rope. When in 1947, the Dutch minister of finance applied for “interim relief”, an advance on the funds that were destined for the Netherlands as part of the European Recovery Program (ERP or Marshall Plan), his application was rejected on the grounds that France, Austria and Italy were much more endangered by a communist revolution and therefore were in much more need of immediate financial support (Fennema and Rhijnsburger 2007, 177; Hueting 2008, 117). As discussed in the introduction, the Dutch postwar cabinets did not fear an immediate communist invasion or takeover. However, there were concerns among the entire political establishment about the popularity of the CPN with regard to the upcoming accelerated parliamentary elections of 1948. Different political parties campaigned with anticommunist slogans. The Catholic Party (Katholieke Volkspartij, KVP), for instance, tried to mobilize voters by appeal- ing to them through campaign posters to join the party in its “power struggle against the communist danger” (Bornewasser 1995, 200). In February 1948, shortly before the elections, the CPN lost a lot of support by expressing solidarity with the communist coup d’état in Prague, Czechoslovakia. Because the Netherlands and Czechoslovakia shared a long tradition of democracy, both the political and popular reactions to the coup were harsh and CPN support quickly broke away, resulting in the loss of two seats in the House of Representatives. Popular opinion was further impacted by two other international crises. In October 1949 Mao Zedong declared the communist People’s Republic of Chi- na, and in June 1950 the Korean War broke out. Korea was especially important for the Dutch perception of the communist threat, as this was the first time the Netherlands were actively and militarily involved in the Cold War. Taken together, in the immediate postwar years, the public and political climate shifted to the extent that severe anticommunist measures were met with public approval rather than democratic qualms (Bogaarts 1994, 48-9). First of all, communist MPs were banned from all parliamentary commissions that discussed cases sensitive to national security, like the commissions for Foreign Affairs and Defense (Braun 1975, 67-8). Secondly, the CPN was excluded from radio airtime for political parties, the communist labor union (Eenheids Vakcentrale, EVC) was denied a legal status and the government reinstated the ‘state officials ban’ (ambtenarenverbod). With this ban, state officials were no longer allowed to be a member of the CPN, or to subscribe to the communist newspaper De Waarheid (literal translation: The Truth) (De Liagre Böhl 2003, 219-20). A ban against the CPN as such was not issued (unlike in the Federal Republic of Germany), since the authorities calculated that an underground communist movement would be much more dangerous than a party that was part of the political system, and of which popularity and membership could be estimated easily (Bogaarts 1994, 56-7). However, the CPN landed in a position of extreme isolation. After the municipal elections of 1949, all democratic parties called upon their local fractions not to participate in coalitions with the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 215 communists (Braun 1975, 68). These measures were an overture towards the direct interventions in Finsterwolde, though on a local level Finsterwolde was not the first case in which the federal government intervened. In Amsterdam, the CPN was the largest party in the city council after the municipal elections of 1946. The CPN therefore provided two aldermen.5 The situation in the executive board of the municipality (the college of B&W) esca- lated after the CPN declared their support for the coup d’état in Prague in Feb- ruary 1948. The communist aldermen were “invited” to resign, but declined. In June, Parliament then passed a law amendment which made it possible to fire deputies and aldermen before the end of their term. In September 1948, Am- sterdam dismissed both the communist aldermen (De Liagre Böhl 2009). Thus, in Amsterdam, a custom bill was passed and then used a few months later to solve an unwanted situation. In Finsterwolde the opposite was done as the scope of an existing bill was stretched in order to dismiss the local communist government. The bill to supervise local government and – if necessary – to dissolve the local administration was based on the 146th article of the Dutch constitution. This article stated that the federal government could intervene in local governance if “the control and household of the municipality were severely neglected.” The article was added to the constitution in 1887 to allow the administration to intervene in local government actions when the financial welfare of the municipality was in jeopardy. The bill had been deployed a few times since then. In almost all cases it was deployed in accordance with the reasons the article existed. Before we can examine the Finsterwolde case in more detail, we have to look at the dismissal of the administration of Beerta in 1933, as it is doubtful that there were no political motives for intervening in this small municipality close to Finsterwolde. In Beerta, the local coalition was formed by the Social Democratic Labor Party (Sociaal-Democratische Arbei- derspartij, SDAP) and the CPN. The city council had neglected to submit their budget for three consecutive years. The financial grounds for an article 146 intervention were therefore present, but it could be argued that there were political reasons as well. The CPN was the largest political party in Beerta, with four of the eleven available seats in the city council, while anticommunist sentiments already existed in the interwar Netherlands. During the parliamentary debate on the implementation of an article 146 procedure in Beerta, the communist MP David Wijnkoop operated a conspiracy dispositive to support his argument that the administration had political motives to intervene. He lamented: “This is the pattern according to which they [the administration] intend to do the same to others who are not planning to follow the Colijn ad-

5 The political structure of a municipality in the Netherlands consists of a city council, elected by the people, aldermen appointed by this council, their number based on the size of the population, and a mayor, appointed by the crown. The mayor (burgemeester) and aldermen (wethouders) form the college of B&W, the executive board of the municipality.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 216 ministration in this period of breakdown.”6 His speech could not prevent the fact that only the three communist MPs voted against the bill,7 but it did set a precedent for communists and we will see later on in this article that conspiracy dispositives were operated by communists in the Finsterwolde case as well. When considering the situation in Finsterwolde, the communist majority was not a complete surprise. The CPN was traditionally popular in this region and in Finsterwolde, a ‘red menace’ similar to Beerta had developed even before the Second World War. During the municipal elections of 1935 the CPN had obtained an absolute majority in the city council with six of the eleven available seats. With Beerta in mind, the SDAP declined to participate in the local coalition, an offer the CPN had made even though they held an absolute majority. Therefore, the CPN ruled alone, which prompted the minister of internal affairs Hendrik van Boeijen (Christian Historical Union, CHU) to set up a code of conduct in consultation with the Queen’s Commissioner, the States Deputed (Gedeputeerde Staten, G.S.) and the mayor of Finsterwolde. Though democratic elections had been held, Van Boeijen did not believe that the city council was a democratic reflection of the people in Finsterwolde. He feared a communist master plan in which the CPN were secretly strengthening their position by forming cells in which they, “contrary to the situation at the time in Beerta, acted with great caution.”8 Notwithstanding his fear of a communist conspiracy, Van Boeijen did not want to intervene right away. He believed that the communist conspiracy would surface in time and that “the people will see that this method of administration is not the most appropriate.”9 In 1939, the CPN then lost its absolute majority with the new municipal elections and the Second World War broke out shortly afterwards. The combination of these two factors caused the question to disappear from the political agenda. In 1946, during the first postwar municipal elections in Finsterwolde, the CPN once again received an absolute majority in the city council. Since the newly founded social democratic PvdA had already announced that they would not cooperate with the CPN, the communists established a single party majority, as they had done before the war (Hoekman and Houkes 1993, 25, 64-5). In the period between 1946 and 1950, the collisions between the council and the federal government in The Hague intensified (Braun 1975, 14-5). The communists in the council had committed themselves to the improvement of the living conditions of the many poor laborers in the municipality, and the CPN initiated the construction of new houses, little city gardens, dry and light rooms

6 HTK 33th assembly: “Voorziening in bestuur der Gemeente Beerta” (21 December 1933), p. 1164. 7 HTK 33th assembly (21 December 1933), p. 1168. 8 Letter from the minister of Internal Affairs about the situation in Finsterwolde (18 January 1938). NL-HaNA, OKW/Kabinet. Acc. 2.14.20, entry 256. 9 Ibidem.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 217 in homes where people with tuberculosis lived, and education and sports facilities (Braun 1975, 17). The mayor complained about the way communist council members continuously discussed international politics. In addition, the local government had decided to pay the salaries of laborers who went on strike against the grim working conditions prescribed by social services (Dienst Uitvoering Werken, DUW), whereby unemployed laborers had to work in order to receive financial aid. The ordinances that came with these council decisions were annulled by the state. The atmosphere in the council was therefore cold as the communists held the mayor responsible for these annulments.10 This increasingly irritated the mayor, Harm Tuin (PvdA), since he felt that the interests of the laborers were placed in the foreground while the attitude of the communist majority towards the mayor and all non-communist council members was ill-affected. For instance, during a council meeting, a communist council member had stated that “the administration continues the policies of the German fascists. But it will not be long before these gentlemen will be tried before their Nuremberg.”11 However, the situation was by no means serious enough to justify an Article 146 intervention on financial grounds, as the budget plans presented to the provincial government by the local authorities had always been approved. The next chapter will demonstrate in more detail that the federal administration was aware of the dubious constitutional grounds the measures were based upon. The irritation about this communist stronghold among the establishment was nonetheless large enough to proceed anyway. The question therefore remains as to why exactly the government decided to intervene in Finsterwolde and how this intervention was legitimized. A few more steps and incentives were necessary before the ultimate remedium – the Article 146 intervention – was deployed.

3. Finsterwolde in Private Government Communications

In 1949, the CPN prolonged its absolute majority in the city council for another four years. The prospect of a continuation of CPN rule prompted mayor Tuin to notify the regional government about the increasing problems in Finsterwol- de.12 The provincial authorities, the so-called States Deputed (Gedeputeerde Staten, G.S.), then decided to bring the matter to the attention of the minister of internal affairs, Frans Teulings (KVP). The highest provincial authority and chairman of G.S., the Queen’s Commissioner, took it upon himself to write the

10 Letter from Mayor Tuin to States Deputed (9 August 1949). NL-HaNA, BiZa/ Bestuurszaken en Kabinetszaken. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 11 Minutes of the council meeting of the Finsterwolde city council (February 23 1950). 12 Letter from States Deputed to the Minster of Internal Affairs (23 September 1949). NL- HaNA, BiZa. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 218 letter to the ministry. The Queen’s Commissioner at that time was E. H. Ebels, a politician from the conservative-liberal party (Volkspartij voor Vrijheid en Democratie, VVD). It is noteworthy that Ebels was descended from a family of rich landowners – the same social status that was directly targeted by the communists in Finsterwolde. It is therefore quite possible that Ebels felt some personal motivation to assist mayor Tuin in ousting the communists from office. Ebels appealed to The Hague to intervene and apply Article 146 of the Consti- tution. In his letter of September 23, 1949, he stated: The communist party should be seen as a serious threat to our state institutions and our legal system. […] The last decade has very clearly demonstrated the dangers of allowing those movements to participate on an equal footing in our democratic system, as they do not accept the foundations of this system and above all aim to […] overthrow the given order. The communists have clearly placed themselves outside of this order. Against them, defense is legitimized for reasons of self-preservation.13 In Ebels’ argument, two concepts play an important role. On the one hand, he focuses on the threat to the state institutions and the legal system (the ‘referent object’ in the securitization theory). His argument reminds us of the traditional fear of extreme positions vis-à-vis the moderate, bourgeois idea of public order. This theme also recurred in the parliamentary debates. The conservative-liberal MP Govert Ritmeester stated in 1951 that it is “our duty to provide peace, order and authority in The Netherlands.”14 In the second place, Ebels described the “referent subject”, the perpetrator, as much more encompassing than the mere bunch of communists in Finsterwolde alone. According to him, the two communist aldermen in Finsterwolde represented an overarching threat of communists wanting to overthrow the given order. However, the ministry did not respond to this first letter. Therefore, G.S. sent a reminder on October 14, 1949.15 In this second letter, Ebels provided more factual information for his argument, and attached a copy of a letter from mayor Tuin to G.S. This letter, counting over sixty pages, gave various examples of the apparent problems in Finsterwolde.16 G.S. kept sending similar letters in the course of 1949 and 1950 in order to keep the attention of the minister. In response to the second letter from G.S, Jan Kan, the chief of staff for the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Department of Domestic Administration and Leg- islation (binnenlands bestuur en wetgeving), wrote a report to the minister. In

13 Letter from States Deputed to the Minster of Internal Affairs (23 September 1949). NL- HaNA, BiZa/ Bestuurszaken en Kabinetszaken. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 14 HTK 66th assembly: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde (24 May 1951), p. 1827. 15 Reminder from States Deputed to the Minster of Internal Affairs (14 October 1949). NL- HaNA, BiZa. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 16 Letter from Mayor Tuin to States Deputed (9 August 1949). NL-HaNA, BiZa. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 219 this report, Kan presented the letters from G.S. and discussed the question of whether it was possible to intervene in Finsterwolde. Kan concluded that “there are powerful objective standards to indicate that the term ‘severe neglect of the internal household of the municipality’ […] is not yet applicable here.”17 Kan discussed another possible ground for intervention in the undesirability of a situation in which both the city council and the executive board (College of B&W) consisted of a communist majority. He discarded this possibility by pointing to the “code of conduct that the government followed over the past years concerning communism, and still follows.”18 Kan suggested discussing the matter in the Council of Ministers. Minister Teulings did not deem this necessary at the moment, but replied that he would bring the matter up in the reports and queries section at the end of the meeting.19 However, the question cannot be found in the minutes, so it is not clear whether and in what way the question was discussed in a more informal setting, or kept out of the notes deliberately. At the end of November, Kan’s attitude towards the Finsterwolde situation changed. He wrote a letter to Teulings in which he informed the minister about the possibility of visiting the village, and on December 6, 1949, Kan sent a report in which he discussed some problems regarding the suspended decisions made by the city council. Whereas Kan wrote in October that an intervention was not possible based on Article 146, and not desirable on other grounds, he now wrote that the minister could not continue infinitely revoking council decisions in an incident-based manner, as this ad-hoc approach would affect the state government’s legitimacy, since legal grounds for the repeals were thin.20 Kan also started to push for bringing the issue of Finsterwolde up in the Coun- cil of Ministers, and during the minister’s visit to Groningen, Kan placed the Finsterwolde situation in a prominent position on the agenda.21 On January 7, 1950, Minister Teulings described the question as a matter that was of such general interest that other ministries (Reconstruction, Econom- ic Affairs, Agriculture and Finance) would also be affected. Therefore, in Janu- ary 1950, Kan subsequently brought the question to the attention of Prime Minister Willem Drees. He wrote a memorandum with a short note explaining

17 Report from J.M. Kan to minister Teulings (October 1949). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 18 Ibidem. 19 Comments written on a report from J.M. Kan (October 1949). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 20 Report from J.M. Kan to the Minister of Internal Affairs concerning the council decisions of Finsterwolde regarding the municipal body responsible for social affairs (6 December 1949). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 21 Agenda sent by J.M. Kan to minister Teulings (30 December 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 220 the situation in Finsterwolde.22 Kan addressed the possible steps the government could take. The first option was to wait, while council decisions would no longer be annulled on dubious grounds, in order to reach the situation of “severe neglect” faster. The second option Kan presented was to dismiss the municipal government immediately based on Article 146.23 This demonstrates how an important government actor deliberately sought a possibility of intervening. The response by Drees is written down in a memorandum dated March 7, 1950. Drees had apparently sent the question back to the Ministry of Internal Affairs but was “willing to cooperate if there were enough compelling arguments.”24 On February 13, 1950, Kan received another letter from the Queen’s Commis- sioner in Groningen. Ebels wrote that G.S. was “now eagerly awaiting the filing of a bill which would end this sinister game.”25 On March 7, the issue was put on the agenda of the Council of Ministers. The ministry still doubted the constitutional possibilities of taking action, but believed that in any case it would be good to discuss the question in the council.26 Teulings then sent a memorandum, accompanied by a note, to all ministries.27 According to Teu- lings: […] one can ask whether the democracy has the right (or the obligation) to defend itself with all possible means when an opponent uses illegal means (terror etc.). For the authority of the state it is disastrous to allow the continuation of the practices of this communist council and administration. One can already hear sounds to this effect, that the government apparently does not regard itself as all too strong, as they let this ‘play’ run its course.28 Finally, the Council of Ministers dedicated itself to the Finsterwolde issue on April 17. The council concluded that Article 146 was a far-reaching step to take, but in absence of alternatives, moral grounds were powerful enough to legitimize such a step.29 To absolutely ascertain the democratic legitimacy of the intervention, an advisory committee was formed. This committee was chaired by George van den Bergh, a professor of law, and chairman of the Wiardi Beckman Foundation (a political foundation linked to the PvdA). The committee further comprised Max Prinsen, the secretary of the Council of

22 Note accompanying a memorandum from J.M. Kan to minister Teulings (7 January 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 23 Memorandum for the discussion of the Finsterwolde question with prime minister Drees (7 January 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 24 Letter from J.M. Kan to minister Teulings (7 March 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 25 Letter from E.H. Ebels to J.M. Kan (13 February 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 440. 26 Letter from J.M. Kan to minister Teulings (7 March 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 27 Letter from the chairman of the Council of Ministers to all ministers (5 April 1950). NL- HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 28 Memorandum for the Council of Ministers (5 April 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 29 Summary from the minutes of the Council of Ministers (17 April 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 221 Ministers, J. Riphagen, legal advisor at the Ministry of Internal Affairs and A.L. Wilkeshuis, the deputy secretary of the Council of Ministers. Interestingly, this committee initially had strong reservations about an Arti- cle 146 intervention. On May 12 Van den Bergh wrote a letter to Kan discussing the design of the memorandum of explanation that would be filed in parliament together with the bill. According to the committee the factual evidence was not very strong, while only very concrete proof of corruption, nepotism and intimidation or acts of terror could legitimize a national intervention. Not- withstanding these reservations, the committee did see some possibilities: If it can indeed be proved that the principles of the democracy are knowingly undermined, it is permissible to speak of a situation of “severe neglect of the control and household of the municipality.”30 In preparation for such a situation, the committee advised the administration “to seek contact with the representatives of the five parties in parliament and to let ‘good’ press organs prepare the case.”31 This further demonstrates the uncertainty about the legal grounds for an intervention. At the end of June, the Van den Bergh committee decided to alter the constitutional legitimization in the memorandum of explanation. In accordance with their opinion about the legal possibilities, the explanation would now be based on the argument that the situation in Finsterwolde contradicted the general principles of good governance.32 The minutes of this meeting spoke about the “suffocating atmosphere, which pushes every healthy initiative back.” With these changes, the memorandum now pointed to the context of a “systematic negation of the principles of objectivity, respect for human personality and loyalty for the minority.” Interestingly, rather than adding more concrete evidence of bad governance to the memorandum of explanation – which the committee had deemed necessary on May 12 – the examples already given were connected to the national values of good governance: “the tangible facts are symptoms of a total and totalitarian atmosphere, which should be considered to stand in a direct conflict with the Dutch standards considering the principles of good governance.”33 Both the “referent object” – the state of the Dutch democratic order – and the “referent subject” – the totalitarian threat of a communist subversion – were heavily inflated. The Finsterwolde case was then discussed in the Council of Ministers on September 18, 1950. The draft of the bill and the memorandum of explanation

30 Report from a meeting about Finsterwolde between Kan, Van den Bergh, Prinsen, Riphagen and Wilkeshuis (31 May 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 31 Ibidem, NL-HaNA, Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 32 Note on letter from J.M. Kan to M. Prinsen (15 June 1950). NL-HaNA. Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439. 33 Memo concerning the situation in Finsterwolde (27 June 1950). NL-HaNA, Acc. 2.04.87, entry 439.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 222 were unanimously adopted. After some consultations between the minister of justice, the Council of State and States Deputed in Groningen, the intervention was announced to the public on October 30, 1950 (Maas and Clerx 1996, 911).

4. A Public Third World War: The Adoption of the Finsterwolde Bill

On November 3, 1950, the cabinet presented the Finsterwolde bill in parliament. The city council, the local administration and municipal commissions controlled by the CPN were to be dismissed and the mayor was to be appointed as the state official who would rule Finsterwolde. Together with the bill, the administration filed a memorandum of explanation. This memorandum included a passage that addressed the main problem of legitimizing this rather unique move: the fact that the drafters of the constitution had not intended Article 146 to be used in situations like Finsterwolde. The administration thus refuted the obvious argument that the bill was unconstitutional beforehand, concluding that: It is after careful consideration of the scope of the law that the government came to the conclusion that, in the light of current events, it is constitutionally fully justified in applying Article 146 […] also in cases where a municipality systematically acts contrary to the principles of good governance. 34 The administration expressed the importance of the general atmosphere of political subversion in Finsterwolde to compensate for the rather flimsy constitutional grounds. After all, the Van den Bergh committee had stated during the preparation of this bill that the factual evidence was thin. In the memorandum of explanation, the examples from the city council minutes were consequently connected to the broader threats of global communism – inflating the local threat to international dimensions. Communist municipal officials were for example quoted as saying that they “were not prepared to pander to the interests of a reactionary landowner representing the government.” And, when opposed by the mayor, they would subsequently lash back with slogans such as: “the class struggle is buried with you, but not with us.”35 To demonstrate that this threat was not just political, but also had a physical character, one of the communist council members was quoted stating that “persons of his [the mayor’s] kind would be dealt with once the working class had taken control,

34 HTK attachments: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde”, memorandum of explanation (3 November 1950). 35 Ibid.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 223 like in China.”36 According to the government, these examples were “a typical symptom of the moral pressure being exerted on the entire population.”37 The government further substantiated its claim by pointing to the national implications of such a local situation. According to the government, the communists: [...] had gradually lost sight of the place of the municipality as part of our state order. They do not hesitate to follow a policy in the performance of their duties which clearly shows that they have disengaged themselves from Dutch morale and apparently seek to undermine the legal authority and the authority of the law.38 The government projected the image that the CPN increasingly opposed the idea of Dutch bourgeois society and its norms of moderation. Hence, the threat perception that can be deduced from the memorandum of explanation pertained in the first place to the local dimension of CPN subversion in Finsterwolde. In the second place, the memorandum lifted the threat to a higher, national level. The minister even suggested that democracy as such was being threatened, thereby attributing an ideological dimension to the communist menace in Fin- sterwolde. The government wrote that because of this atmosphere it was “not surprising that […] amongst the population a sense of living in a state of utter lawlessness prevails.”39 In sum, “the way in which the municipal Administra- tion was conducted detracted […] gravely from the state’s authority and respect for the law.”40 The communist reaction to this bill was obviously very negative. Different communist actors introduced conspiracy theories in order to counter the allegations. Before continuing to the legitimization of the bill in the parliamentary debates, I will first discuss these conspiracies. In Parliament, the communist MPs expressed their indignation and anger. The communist MP Paul de Groot stated that the bill was an attempt to reinvigorate the “waning anticommunist sentiments in Dutch society.”41 Another communist MP, Henk Gortzak, introduced the argument of a conspiracy, hinting at a larger, international scheme to thwart legal communist attempts to gain influence. According to Gortzak, the intervention in Finsterwolde was clearly fueled by the United States, as communist city councils in France and Italy were being dissolved as well.42 In order to counter these allegations, prime minster Willem Drees introduced a counter-

36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 HTK attachments: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde”, memorandum of explanation (3 November 1950). 39 Ibid. 40 Ibid. 41 HTK 18th assembly: “Algemene beraadslagingen over de Rijksbegroting voor het dienstjaar 1951” (14 November 1950), p. 458. 42 HTK 18th assembly, p. 463.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 224 conspiracy into the debate: the coincidence of the measures in France, Italy and the Netherlands was not caused by this alleged anticommunist plot, but by the fact that “communists act the same way in different countries, based on general methods, and in the end, the democratic countries have to defend themselves against this in the same way.”43 Drees thus alluded to the broader-felt fear of an underground communist movement in his reaction, but did not operate this conspiracy theory in other debates. In Finsterwolde, the local fraction of the CPN rejected the bill and the legitimizing arguments altogether and immediately sent a petition to the cabinet demanding the bill’s suspension. In the city council, the CPN operated the same conspiracy dispositive that Gortzak had used. On November 30, 1950, the communist council member Harm Haken (brother of the MP Jan Haken) lamented that “it is no coincidence that the same is happening in France and Italy. The measures are ordered by Washington. And the press, barring a few exceptions, have faithfully helped in this.”44 When researching the press reaction, a third communist actor that operated the conspiracy dispositive can be discerned. Popular opinion demanded government action against communism and welcomed the measures in Finsterwol- de. This was especially the case for newspapers like the social democratic Het Vrije Volk (The Free People). The communist national newspaper De Waarheid reacted with a stream of articles about Finsterwolde in which various conspiracies were introduced. On November 3, 1950, De Waarheid published an article that related the intervention to a local plot by rich landowners that had existed since the first absolute communist majority of 1935. The landowners, according to the newspaper, had never complied with the situation in Finsterwolde. The mayor was depicted as an accomplice, ready to alarm the provincial and national government whenever council decisions did not please the landowners. According to De Waarheid, the communists had been able to withstand this “bourgeois” campaign, but: [...] when it became clear that the democratically and constitutionally elected administration of Finsterwolde could not be destroyed by sabotage, slander and intimidation, the Drees administration presented [Finsterwolde] with coarse fascist artillery” (De Waarheid, November 3, 1950). As a consequence of a political crisis at the beginning of 1951,45 the memorandum of reply46 was not filed in Parliament until May 16, 1951. Therefore, more

43 HTK 19th assembly: “Vervolg algemene beraadslagingen over de rijksbegroting voor het dienstjaar 1951” (15 November 1950), p. 478. 44 Minutes of the city council of Finsterwolde (November 30, 1950). NL-HaNA, ingang 2.04.87, inv.nr. 438. 45 The cabinet fell over a crisis in New Guinea due to a motion by the conservative-liberal party (VVD). See for more information on the crisis the online parliamentary database: (accessed 28 September 2012).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 225 than half a year passed before the parliamentary debate was held on May 24 and 25. As a consequence of this crisis, a new minister of internal affairs, Johan van Maarseveen (KVP), had been appointed. He largely stuck to the course embarked on by Teulings and Kan, but went further in explicating the threat to the legal order and the authority of the state. In the memorandum of reply, he stated that: The fact is that it cannot be allowed that constitutional rights are abused […] with the goal of impairing the Dutch legal order as much as possible. Such abuse is contrary to the prevailing notion in the Netherlands of what is legitimate and dutiful.47 In the parliamentary debates, Minister Van Maarseveen continued to highlight the undesirability of the situation in Finsterwolde in terms of public order, the culture of consent and the authority of the state. Van Maarseveen opened his statement with a summary of all the causes that justified the use of Article 146, which had already been laid out by Teulings and Kan. Van Maarseveen structured his statement along five lines of argumentation: 1) The municipal administration had declared that it only represented the interests of communist laborers, which implied that they neglected the interests of all the other citizens they were supposed to represent. 2) The city council refused to cooperate in matters of development and industrial projects suggested by noncommunist council members, although these investments would benefit the community as a whole. 3) Communist aldermen and council members intimidated and threatened local officials with dismissal if they refused to execute their “unlawful biddings.” 4) Communists terrorized all other party members by warning them that they would fall victim to the revolution, once the “advance of the working class had crossed the Dutch borders.” 5) The city council deliberately pushed conflicts to the limit, rather than looking for compromises, as a responsible government would set out to do.48 Just as in 1950, the communists were the only party to oppose the bill. The communist spokesmen argued that the situation in Finsterwolde was not as serious by far as the government had suggested. They had let the situation continue for another half year after the bill was filed, something that would not have happened if the situation was truly as burdensome as the government

46 In Dutch politics, it is customary to file a memorandum of explanation with a bill, followed by a short parliamentary debate. To answer questions that arose during this short debate, the initiator of the bill then files a memorandum of reply, after which the actual debate with a vote is scheduled. 47 HTK attachments: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde”, Memorandum of reply (16 May 1951), p.13. 48 HTK 67th assembly: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde” (25 May 1951), p. 1841.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 226 claimed. As Gortzak had done during the preliminary debate in 1950, Haken operated the American conspiracy dispositive as well. Haken argued that France, Italy, Belgium and Luxembourg were taking the same measures against local communist councils and aldermen, which proved that “these orders were all inspired […] by the rulers of the [American] State Department, the Hitlers of 1945, the murderers of the Korean people […] the current and future war criminals.”49 However, the Catholic MP E.G.M. Roolvink (KVP) countered these allegations in a somewhat humorous tone, discarding the conspiracy dispositive as a mental image produced by the communists: “I believe the hon- ored representative Gortzak suffers from some sort of an America complex, causing him to consider many things under a false light!”50 In the continuation of the debate, various speakers of government parties further substantiated the grounds on which the administration had claimed the legitimacy of the bill. The social democratic MP Johan Scheps did this in a very serious manner. He used strong anticommunist discourse, invoking a real Cold War atmosphere. Scheps disapprovingly quoted a Finsterwolde communist who had purportedly compared the Dutch government with the German fascists, and had warned the ministers that they would receive a Nuremberg trial as well.51 For Scheps, an intervention was urgent: It is, mister chairman, a case of life and death. […] The years 1940-1945 have clearly demonstrated that […] if we do not take timely action against every fascist danger, and extinguish every fascist fire, we will later have to reproach ourselves, with blood and tears, for what we could have done under easier conditions, but failed to do so. Democracy and freedom cannot thrive where dictatorship lives, whether this dictatorship comes to us in the name of a ra- cially pure Aryanism or proletarian slavery.52 As anti-totalitarianism soared high and public fears of a Third World War had increased since 1946, Scheps’ argument had an impact. Scheps explicitly played into the public fear of communism by stating that “these threats [by the communists] are made after a World War with the likelihood of a Third World War in front of us.”53 The accusations by Scheps have to be seen within a broader perspective of the Second World War and socialist rivalry (Rovers

49 HTK 66th Assembly (24 May 1951), p. 1820. 50 HTK 66th Assembly (24 May 1951), p. 1825. 51 Quoted from the minutes of the city council of Finsterwolde held on 23 February 1950. HTK 66th assembly: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde (24 May 1951), p. 1830. 52 HTK 66th assembly (24 May 1951), p. 1827. 53 HTK 67th assembly: “Voorziening in het bestuur van de gemeente Finsterwolde” (25 May 1951), p. 1848.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 227 1994),54 but a broad anti-totalitarian consensus prevailed amongst the other parties as well. For the VVD, MP Govert Ritmeester presented their view on the legitimacy of this bill. He stated in a reaction to the threats made by the CPN in the Fin- sterwolde city council that: This has to do with the armed working masses, predicted by Lenin in his ‘Revolution’. We stand in opposition to this ideology. It is our duty to provide tranquility, order, and authority in The Netherlands. Therefore, we cannot do otherwise than, albeit with a heavy heart, accept this bill for the sake of the democracy, because it has to be done.55 Ritmeester’s quote is a good example of the process of ‘othering’ (Hansen 2006, 38-40), a phenomenon crucial to the concept of conspiracy and security. Ritmeester makes a clear distinction between the CPN and the patriotic “we” he calls on to take action. With this “we” he suggests both parliamentary and public support, and places communists outside the orbit of “good” citizens. As securitization theory dictated, a sense of urgency, immediacy and inevitability should be invoked to legitimize emergency measures. Ritmeester did so by pointing to the innate otherness and totalitarian nature of the communist threat, concluding not with a political statement, but by pointing to an impersonal authority: “it has to be done”. The bill to intervene in Finsterwolde was passed after the debate in the House of Representatives on May 25 and became active on July 20 1951, after the Senate had ratified the bill. Both the city council and the College of B&W were dismissed and the mayor was appointed as government commissioner who de facto ruled Finsterwolde.

5. Conclusion

In this article, we set out to reconstruct the decision-making process that preceded the Finsterwolde bill. For the administration, legitimizing this rather unique move in Dutch history – dissolving the entire local government structure – was essential to uphold their democratic standards. Behind the scenes, local and federal government officials, ministers and legal experts discussed the constitutional basis and the legitimization of the use of Article 146 in Fin-

54 The CPN was founded in 1909 after a dispute within the SDAP (the social democratic party). In 1946 the SDAP was included in the PvdA. In some ways, one could therefore say that the communist party was born within the social democratic party. Other parties used this. For instance, in 1948 the VVD (conservative-liberal party) and the CHU (Christian-conservative party) named the PvdA as the cause of the appointment of CPN aldermen in Amsterdam. The PvdA therefore used a relatively strong anticommunist discourse in Parliament. For more information see Rovers (1994). 55 HTK 66th assembly (24 May 1951), p. 1832.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 228 sterwolde. In the end, the consensus was that the legal grounds were thin, but that an intervention could be justified on grounds that the city council continuously acted contrary to the principles of good governance. The Drees administration (the securitizing actor) legitimized this move by investing the communists in general and the communist city council in particular (the referent subject) with such an aura of unprecedented threat that direct measures had to be adopted in order to protect the citizens of Finsterwolde, the public order, and the authority of the state (the referent objects). In parliament, a sense of urgency, immediacy and inevitability was invoked by both ministers and MPs in order to legitimize such custom measures. They did so by inflating the threat and connecting it to broader values of Dutch political culture, the public order and the authority of the state. Communists tried to oppose the created image by operating a conspiracy dispositive: the local and national fractions of the CPN hinted at an American scheme to thwart legal communist attempts to gain influence. Non-political actors also operated conspiracy dispositives. De Waarheid further elaborated the existence of an American plot, but also introduced a local conspiracy theory. The mayor of Finsterwolde acted as an accomplice to the rich landowners, standing ready to alert provincial and national government whenever decisions made by the communist party did not please them. In both these conspiracy theories, the communists became the victims of the bourgeois and capitalist world. However, the Finsterwolde situation was already invested with such an aura of necessity and imminent threat by both politicians and the press that these conspiracy claims were not strong enough, nor were the communists able to spread them further than their own media in order to gain enough credibility or grounds. The government could therefore counter these conspiracies without the bill’s losing its legitimacy. In order to understand the climate in which the government was able to legitimize the intervention in Finsterwolde, this case study cannot be disconnected from the context. In the immediate postwar years, a situation in which society was afraid of communism and a Third World War had developed. Popular opinion was that the Dutch government did too little to contain communism in the Netherlands. The continued press attention towards the Finsterwolde case fed the idea that letting the situation in Finsterwolde continue in this way would affect the authority of the state. Also, right-wing militias were formed by citizens and quickly gained popularity because of popular consensus that the government did too little against the communists. These right-wing militias thus put pressure on the government to at least publicly stand up against communism. Also, the international context with the crises in China, Korea, Greece and Prague had spawned a situation in which anticommunist measures could be taken without public or political resistance. In the end, the Finsterwolde bill was passed by the House of Representatives on May 25 and became active on July 20, 1951, after the Senate had ratified the bill. Both the city council and

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 229 the College of B&W were dismissed and the mayor was appointed as government commissioner who de facto ruled Finsterwolde. The effect of this bill was, however, short-term. After the municipal elections of 1953 the municipal government of Finsterwolde would be restored. The CPN again received six of the eleven seats in the city council during this election and thus managed to obtain an absolute majority in the city council once more.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 231 The Moro Affair – Left-Wing Terrorism and Conspiracy in Italy in the Late 1970s

∗ Tobias Hof

Abstract: »Die ‚Affäre Moro‘ – Linksterrorismus und Verschwörungstheorien im Italien der späten 1970er Jahre«. Shortly after the left-wing terrorist group Red Brigades kidnapped the former Italian Prime Minister Aldo Moro in March 1978 numerous conspiracy theories began to spread. At the core of many of these theories was – and still is – the belief that the Red Brigades were controlled by a foreign power. The headquarters of Italian left-wing terrorism was suspected everywhere but home. In the following article Tobias Hof describes the evolution and the different bearers of these theories and addresses their functional character by analyzing possible motives for injecting them into the public discourse. He shows how different groups from the far left to the far right of the political spectrum used conspiracy theories to de-legitimize the political opponent or legitimize their own policy in relation to the Moro abduction. The Moro murder case shines the clearest light on the triad of terrorism – conspiracy – and anti-terrorism policy in Italy in the late 1970s. Keywords: Aldo Moro, terrorism, Italy, conspiracy theories, secret services.

1. Introduction

Rome, March 16, 1978, shortly after 9am: The president of the Christian Dem- ocratic Party (DC), Aldo Moro, is on his way to the Chamber of Deputies where a vote of confidence in the second minority government of Giulio An- dreotti is about to occur. He is accompanied by his five bodyguards. Suddenly a Fiat blocks the way. The passengers of the Fiat, members of the left-wing terrorist group Red Brigades, open fire. More terrorists, dressed in the uniform of the Italian airline Alitalia, appear and attack the convoy. After a short time the shooting is over: Four security guards are dead, the fifth will die later in hospital. Moro is unharmed, but is abruptly dragged into a waiting car. He is held hostage for 55 days, during this time the police and security agencies are unable to rescue the politician. On May 9, Moro’s body is found in the trunk of a red Renault in the Via Caetani in Rome. Today a memorial plaque can be

∗ Tobias Hof, Institut für Zeitgeschichte, Leonrodstraße 27, 80636 München, Germany; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 232-256 Ň© GESIS found at the spot where the grisly discovery was made (Giovagnoli 2005, 25- 38; Casamassima 2007, 146-202). Shortly after the ambush numerous conspiracy theories about the Moro case began to spread. At the core of many of these theories was – and still is – the belief that the Red Brigades were controlled by a foreign power. The list of potential masterminds reads like a “who’s who” of secret services, states and clandestine organizations: From the American Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) to the German Bundesnachrichtendienst (BND), from the Soviet Komitet Gossudarstwennoy Besopasnosti (KGB) to the Israeli Mossad, from the Ameri- can State Department to the NATO clandestine organization Gladio, from an international network of Masonic lodges to the language school Hyperion in Paris, from the Czechoslovakian to the British government – the headquarters of Italian terrorism were anywhere but home. It didn’t take long for the notion to gain popularity: Only 10.1 percent of Italians surveyed in January 1982 believed that the Italian left-wing terrorism was a domestic phenomenon. 58.2 percent, however, believed the terrorists were controlled by a foreign power (L’Espresso January 10, 1982). A controversial, sometimes polemic debate quickly developed between adherents and opponents of these theories. Sergio Flamigni, the former Senator for the Italian Communist Party (PCI) and a member of both the parliamentary commission for the Interior as well as the Moro Commission, has written several books in which he passionately argues that Moro fell victim to a sinister plot involving several secret agencies from around the world (Flamigni 1988; 1999; 2004; 2006). This inspired journalists and political commentators inside and outside Italy to spin their own theories, which often sounded even more bizarre than the original ones. The works by the German journalist Regine Igel are very good examples of this trend (Igel 2006; 2007). Other scholars count the book by the Swiss historian Daniele Ganser on Gladio as a contribution to conspiracy literature (Ganser 2005). Conspiracy theorists are challenged in particular by Giovanni Sabbatucci’s and Vladimiro Satta’s accounts of the Moro kidnapping, who try to deconstruct the theories by a careful analysis of various accessible documents (Sabbatucci 1999; Satta 2003; 2006). Yet, unanswered questions about the agents of these theories, their possible motives, and why these debates are still ongoing are often overlooked. Until now, only the American historian Richard Drake – who published one of the first document-based, historical studies on the Moro case and its aftermath (Drake 1995) – and the Dutch historian Beatrice de Graaf have briefly touched upon these problems. However, the two academics have apparently come to different conclusions. Drake absolved the DC government and the heads of the security agencies from all charges to have promoted conspiracy theories in order to cover up the failures in the search for Moro. They did not, as Drake wrote, play “politics with the Moro murder case” (Drake 2007, 60). De Graaf, on the other hand, argues that the conspiracy theories of the left were a wel-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 233 come escape route for the DC government and the security services. By not contributing to more transparency and a more effective prosecution and adjudi- cating of terrorist attacks on the one hand and pointing the finger at foreign interference on the other, government officials did not have to admit counterterrorism mismanagement (De Graaf 2011, 116-7). In the following paper I try to shed more light on the above questions and try to contextualize and evaluate the different interpretations by Drake and De Graaf. Therefore I will not join in the controversial discussion between believers and non-believers of the theories and attempt to “discern between ‘real’ conspiracies and purported ones” (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue), which is almost impossible on an epistemological plane anyway, because a conspiracy by definition cannot be countered since it is able to integrate and neutralize any invalidation in an alleged higher level master plan (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). Instead I am going to analyze the possible functional character of the theories in a given moment in time, thus addressing conspiracy primarily as a legitimizing or delegitimizing tool (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). Based on this premise it becomes obvious that conspiracy theories have to be analyzed within the public discourse, for they can only wield their true potential as a legitimizing or de-legitimizing tool when they are perceived by the public as convincing. Thus it is very important to examine documents and records which display this discourse. Therefore the following study is primarily based on the analysis of parliamentary debates as well as Italian newspapers. Another very important source are the hearings and reports of the Parliamen- tary Commission to inquire into the kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro, which met between 23 May 1980 and 19 April 1983, and of the Parliamentary Commission to inquire into Italian terrorism, which gathered from May 1988 to July 2001. Four central topics are addressed in the following remarks: Firstly, I want to examine the evolution, conjunctures, flows and peaks of conspiracy communications from the beginning of the kidnapping of Moro until the end of the Par- liamentary Commission on Italian terrorism in 2001. Based on these results I am going to analyze, in a second step, possible motives of the different parties, factions or organizations for the dissemination of these theories. Thirdly, I am going to address the question of why the theories still dominate the memory of many Italians when it comes to the Aldo Moro case, despite the fact that the events surrounding the affair have been more or less correctly constructed (De Graaf 2011, 116). Finally, I will outline the benefits and problems of conspiracy theories relating to Italian anti-terrorism policy and to the historical analysis of the “years of lead” as a whole. However, before I start with the Moro affair it will be necessary to go back in time and have a look at the connection between conspiracy, terrorism and security in Italy before 1978.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 234 2. Conspiracy, Terrorism and Security before 1978

Conspiracy theories and terrorism in Italy were intertwined even before the Moro kidnapping. They arose in connection with the terrorism of separatist groups in South Tyrol in the 1950s and 1960s, the violent suppression of the protest movements in the 1960s and the “strategy of tension” in the early 1970s. The theories surrounding right-wing terrorism during the “strategy of tension” are especially important in order to gain a better understanding of the events surrounding the Moro affair. Directly after the Piazza Fontana bombing on December 12, 1969, in Milan, which caused 16 deaths and left over 150 injured, the police concentrated their investigations against left-wing and anarchist groups. Despite the warnings of some members of the government, the security forces were convinced that the perpetrators were to be found in this milieu (Verbale 1969, 2). The extreme left, supported by Socialists and Com- munists, countered these accusations by blaming right-wing extremists as well as the state and suggesting that they were responsible for the terrorist act. They implied that the attack was part of a sinister plot tolerated or even carried out by the Italian security service. The public outcry after the bombing was to be an excuse to establish an authoritarian regime to block the left from gaining more and more power in politics and society. The thesis of the “stragi dello stato” – massacres operated by state institutes – was born (Giannuli 2008, 40- 101). The case of Giuseppe Pinelli is a good illustration of the theories surrounding the Piazza Fontana bombing and their consequences. Pinelli, an anarchist and Italian railway worker, was arrested shortly after the bombing in Milan. During one of his interrogations he tumbled out of a window of the police department and died later in hospital. Even now, the circumstances are dubious. Whereas the police spoke of suicide, the left accused the investigating commissioner Luigi Calabresi of killing Pinelli even though Calabresi was not present when the accident happened. The left started a smear campaign against the police officer: Dario Fò wrote his satirical comedy Morte accidentale di un anarchic, and several famous intellectuals such as Bernardo Bertolucci, Gior- gio Bocca, Umberto Eco, Federico Fellini, Natalia Ginzburg, Franco Lefevre, Pier Paolo Pasolini and Tiziano Terzani wrote letters to newspapers accusing Calabresi of murdering Pinelli. All these allegations and theories about a “murder of the state” were rooted in a deep distrust within the left-wing milieu towards state authorities and institutions – a distrust which dates back to the Fascist era and which would cost Calabresi his life in the end. When Calabresi was shot dead on 17 May, 1972, many on the left interpreted his murder as the punishment he deserved (Brambilla 1993, 93-130). During the “strategy of tension”, the political left voiced many conspiracy theories to support their notion of a plot of right-wingers, security agencies and right-wing terrorists against the Italian left. This conviction was shared by

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 235 many intellectuals and prominent representatives of Italian culture such as the songwriter Claudio Lolli who implied a connection between the death of Pinelli and the bombing of the Italicus train in 1974 in his song Agosto: Non ci vuole molto a capire che è stata una strage, non ci vuole molto a capire che niente, niente è cambiato da quel quarto piano in questura, da quella finestra. Un treno è saltato. It is not difficult to understand that it was a massacre, it is not difficult to understand that nothing, nothing has changed since that fourth floor of the police station, since that window. A train has been blown up.

After 1974, independent public prosecutors were able to prove certain links between right-wing terrorist groups and members of the Italian secret service SID. The left felt vindicated by these discoveries. The revelations and the continuing scandals about government politicians brought the ruling DC into a severe dilemma just before the upcoming parliamentary elections in the summer 1976. For many contemporary observers, the time for a leftist takeover seemed to be very close (Ginsborg 1990, 349, 372-3). However, the victory of the left parties – hoped for by some and feared by others – did not occur. Instead, the Communists decided to back a minority DC government under Giulio Andreotti without entering the government. Due to this decision, the PCI – and thus one of the main agents of conspiracy theories in the early 1970s – was absorbed into government politics. The Communists and Socialists, who followed the lead of their Communist rival, were now more interested in reforming the state from within than attacking the Christian Dem- ocratic Party with conspiracy theories. The first visible expression of this new political approach – the so-called “historic compromise” – was the adaption of the July agreement in 1977 by all parties of the arco costituzionale (Hof 2011, 160-70). Some Communists, however, were exceedingly disappointed by the decision of the party leadership to support a DC government. They abandoned the party and joined ranks with other politicians and intellectuals, who had already founded parties of the “new left” such as the Radical Party. Some began to dwell on conspiracy theories as to why the takeover of the left did not occur in 1976, while others fell back on pure violence as a means of political struggle (cf. Cappellini 2007). In the 1970s, conspiracy theories had become an integral part of the left- wing milieu in their attempts to de-legitimize the Italian governments that were run by the Christian Democratic Party. The scandals surrounding government politicians, the connections discovered between some state officials and right- wing terrorist groups, and the lack of governmental zeal to clear itself and to

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 236 uncover the exact extent of state official’s interference in right-wing attacks kept distrust towards state institutions alive. The new political constellation and the escalation of street violence and left-wing terrorism in light of the trial against the founding fathers of the Red Brigades saw the emergence of new conspiracy theorists after the summer of 1976. Parties and politicians of the center picked up a theory which had been prominent before only in right-wing circles: They began to speculate about connections between Warsaw Pact states and left-wing terrorist groups to explain the escalation of violence (Senato 1976, 2074-5; 1977, 8652). However, due to the “historic compromise” they did not accuse the PCI of having anything to do with terrorist groups such as the Red Brigades (Senato 1976, 1485-6). The emergence and development of the conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro case must be seen in the context of this historical background.

3. The Moro Case – Conspiracy Theories from 1978 till 2001

On March 29, 1978 – almost two weeks after the kidnapping –, the Catholic newspaper L’Avvenire published a statement by senator Benjamino Andreatta (DC). Supposedly, he expressed his belief that the Red Brigades were operated by communist states such as the Soviet Union or the CSSR. However, in a subsequent interview Andreatta denied that he had ever uttered those words (Relazione 1983, 127). A second allusion to the fact that “something” was not right, that some obscure and sinister plotting must have been behind the incident and far greater things were at stake than just the life of one ordinary man came from Aldo Moro himself. During his abduction he wrote over 80 letters to members of the Christian Democratic Party, to his family and to the Pope. In these letters he expressed his astonishment that his “friends” were not obliged to negotiate with his kidnappers to free him. “Is it possible”, he wondered, “that you all want my death for an alleged reason of state” (Gotor 2008, 72). He could not believe that his former colleagues had suddenly discovered a moral sense for some vague reason of state. Thus he rhetorically asked Emilio Tavi- ani (DC): “Is there, maybe, an American or German instruction behind keeping it hard against me?” (Gotor 2008, 43). As the weeks passed by and hundreds of policemen, soldiers and Carabinieri were not able to find him, Moro’s suspicion and anger grew until he gave in to pure resignation. In one letter, which was discovered by the police on April 8, he cursed his party colleagues for not doing everything possible to rescue him: “My blood”, he wrote to his wife Eleonora Moro, “will fall upon them” (Gotor 2008, 31). What did Moro mean? Was there a hidden message in this biblically phrased sentence, or some clues about state secrets he was going to reveal?

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 237 In a parliamentary debate about the kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro, which took place on May 19, 1978, the Communist deputy Ugo Spagnoli raised the question of a possible conspiracy. For Spagnoli it was of the utmost importance to expose the people behind the kidnapping and killing of Moro, the networks between foreign secret services and Italian terrorists and the support the Red Brigades received from these connections (Camera 1978, 17918). Even though he did not specify the “external organizations”, Spagnoli was one of the first prominent politicians to advance these theories. In another debate on the Moro kidnapping four days later in the Italian Senate, it was the Christian Democrat Vittorio Cervone who repeated Spagnoli’s claim (Satta 2003, 21-2). Other members of the DC such as Giuseppe Costamagna, however, dismissed all the theories about some foreign mastermind of Italian terrorism (Camera 1978, 17841). Government officials, such as Prime Minister Giulio Andreotti, usually acted with restraint. He said that he was aware of all the theories surrounding the Moro case and promised that the security services would follow every lead, however unbelievable it might be. Andreotti’s statement was shared by the prominent Communist Alessandro Natta (Camera 1978, 14684; 1978, 14706; 1978, 17932). The big Italian newspaper Corriere della Sera, which is considered to belong to the political center, was more straightforward in its judgement: No “foreign mastermind” of Italian terrorism exists, and it never has existed (Wucher 1978). It was the Sicilian intellectual and writer Leonardo Sciascia, a Member of Parliament of the Radical Party at the time of the Moro kidnapping, who irrev- ocably and prominently embedded the conspiracy theories into the public discourse. In his book L’affaire Moro, which was published in 1978, he turned the question that was raised by Moro into an indictment of the government: “Did his ‘friends’ really want him to come back alive?” (Drake 2007, 37; Sciascia 1978). He agreed with the accusations Moro had put forward in his letters and “assigned ultimate responsibility for the crime of the Red Brigades to the government, although he did so without identifying particular malefactors” (Drake 2007, 37). Many of Sciascia’s fellow party members, such as Emma Bonino, were more direct. They accused the United States, the CIA or other NATO members of masterminding the kidnapping (Camera 1978, 17871). One year after the incident, the national and international situation changed radically. The Communist Party terminated their support for the DC government in January 1979 and with the Soviet Union’s invasion in Afghanistan and NATO’s decision to deploy missiles in Western Europe, the Cold War entered a new, tense period. In the light of these shifts, the theories surrounding the Moro case received renewed interest – especially from outside Italy. Political scientists and terrorism experts, such as the director of the conservative think- tank Center for Strategic and International Studies in Washington D.C., Walter Lacquer, accused Moscow of guiding left-wing terrorist groups to destabilize the Western world (Relazione 1983, 127). The most notorious book on this

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 238 topic was published in 1981, written by the American journalist Claire Sterling and suggesting a global Communist conspiracy (Sterling 1981, see also Living- ston 1982; Livingston and Arnold 1986). In Italy, the thesis that the Moro kidnapping was orchestrated by the Soviet Union was picked up quickly. Not surprisingly, it was predominantly voiced by politicians from the Neo-Fascist party or from right-wingers within the DC such as the notorious anti- Communist Massimo De Carolis (Camera 1978, 14709; L’Espresso January 27, 1980; Satta 2003, 24-5). While attacking the Communists and blaming Moscow, they started at the same time a campaign to defend the work and the members of the former Italian security service SID, which was reformed in 1977 (Camera 1978, 17795, 17831-2). Even members of the Socialist Party such as its president Bettino Craxi stated that the execution of Moro’s kidnapping was only possible because the KGB helped the Red Brigades to carry it out (L’Espresso January 14, 1979, 22-3; April 27, 1980, 11-7; Satta 2003, 28- 9). No members of the DC government or of the security agencies in leading positions during the kidnapping participated in voicing any conspiracy theories. However, they did not seriously contribute to uncovering the real circumstances of the kidnapping and thus allowed conspiracy theories to gain more and more followers. Like the Communists they were initially unfavorable towards the establishment of a parliamentary commission to investigate the Moro abduction (Camera 1979, 8 and 18). The next step in the development of the conspiracy theories surrounding the affair was the publication of the reports by the Parliamentary Commission to inquire into the kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro in the early 1980s. The discussions of the commission centered on the role of the government and the parties during the kidnapping and on the question of why the security services were not able to rescue Moro. Sometimes the debates degenerated into party- political quarrels, only intended to legitimize the position of their own party during the kidnapping. The published findings of the commission, “coming soon after the controversial conclusion of the first trial, […] reinforced the public’s confusion about Moro’s abduction and death. As usual in such a climate of uncertainty, conspiracy theories gained the upper hand” (Drake 1995, 82-3). Especially Communist Sergio Flamigni, the member of the Radical Party Leonardo Sciascia and the representative of the Left Independent Party Raniero La Valle confronted politicians, security officers and Moro’s family members with their theories of a US-administered plot. Francesco Cossiga (DC), minister of the interior from 1975 to 1978, stated that no foreigner was involved in the abduction and killing of former Prime Minister Aldo Moro (Cossiga 1980, 203). Giuseppe Santovito, the chief of the Italian military secret service SISME, went a step further when questioned about a link between the CIA- operated language school Hyperion in Paris and Italian left-wing terrorist groups. “It is not true,” he told the audience, “that the Red Brigades’ headquar- ter is in Paris or in Zurich. We have always said that this allegation is false.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 239 Even the French secret service agrees with our opinion” (Santovito 1980, 154). Santovito was backed by the chiefs of the State Police Giuseppe Parlato and Giovanni Rinaldo Coronas, the Carabinieri General Carlos Alberto Dalla Chiesa as well as by the head of the secret service SISDE, Giulio Grassini. They all agreed that there was absolutely no convincing proof to account for any foreign interference in Italian terrorism. In their opinion, Italian left-wing terrorism was a home-grown phenomenon (Coronas 1980, 71; Grassini 1980, 210; Parlato 1980, 371; L’Espresso July 27, 1980, 10-2). Actually, it was one of the rare occasions on which the heads of the security services and government politicians agreed: When it came to the problem of why the search for Moro failed they started to blame each other, complaining about insufficient laws and too mild a jurisdiction (Parlato 1980, 343). In the end, the majority of the Commission concurred with the judgements of the security and government officials: They wrote that there was no convincing evidence for an operational cooperation between Italian and foreign terrorist groups. They admitted, however, that there were occasional attempts by foreign secret services to cooperate with groups like the Red Brigades, but this occurred after the Moro kidnapping. However, due to ideological differences and a deep distrust of terrorists towards any state agency, the Red Brigades never accepted these offers (Rela- zione 1983, 141). As for the theory of a foreign mastermind who controlled left-wing terrorist groups in Italy, the report was clear: such an institution or person did not exist (Relazione 1983, 15). Eleonora Moro, however, was not won over by all these testimonies. On the contrary, she was convinced – like the left-wing parties – that the United States were involved in the kidnapping and murder of her husband. To prove her allegations, she reminded the members of the Commission of the strained relationship between American officials and Aldo Moro, which dated back to 1974. Other close collaborators and friends of Aldo Moro such as Giovanni Galloni (DC) confirmed Eleonora’s suspicion (Satta 2003, 22-3). The meetings and reports of the Parliamentary Commission to inquire into the activities of the Masonic lodge Propaganda 2 (P2) were another step in the distribution of conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro affair (Drake 2007, 45). The commission, which was headed by Christian Democrat Tina Anselmi, began its work in December 1981 and investigated the connection between politicians, army officers and state officials and the lodge P2. The fact that the heads of the Italian secret services during the Moro kidnapping all belonged to the lodge stirred up the notion that a deliberate obstruction of the search for Moro and of police investigations had occurred. However, it was not only the connection between P2 and the Moro affair that was investigated. In fact the commission focused on dozens of the greatest unsolved mysteries of the history of the Italian Republic – such as the failed coup of Borghese in 1970, the bombings of the Italicus train in 1974 or Bologna in 1980 – and their possible connections to the lodge or other clandestine organizations like Gladio. Besides

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 240 the “usual suspects” from the left-wing political milieu, new prominent promoters of conspiracy theories appeared – above all Anselmi herself, who wrote the final report of the commission (Relazione 1984). The next important mark in the history of the development of the conspiracy theories concerning the Moro case was the collapse of Communist regimes in Eastern Europe and its effects on Italy. The theories were not only helpful in legitimizing or de-legitimizing the actions during the Moro case. They were much more – they offered a way to justify the entire concept of Communist politics in Italy. Therefore it is not surprising that already in 1990 the new head of the Communist Party Achille Occhetto declared “that the kidnappers [of Moro] had been mere pawns ‘piloted’ by secret service agencies both domestic and foreign” (Drake 2007, 42). This notion was already expressed by his colleague Sergio Flamigni in several books on the Moro case. The first one, La tela del ragno – Il delitto Moro, published in 1988, may be taken as a “representative of the vast Moro conspiracy literature in its extreme form” (Drake 2007, 93). In his work, Flamigni advocated the theory that Moro was betrayed by his former colleagues and by state officials. Also a member of the P2 Com- mission, he was one of the most prominent people who suspected that the “mistakes” in the search for Moro did not occur “accidently.” They were rather part of a plan made “in the secret rooms of power [by] men of State with the most sensitive offices […] [which] were at the service not of the country’s republican institutions, but of ‘venerable Masonic masters’” (Drake 2007, 39). Flami- gni’s conclusions sounded very similar to the accusations which extreme left- wing groups had already expressed during the “strategy of tension”: Conserva- tives, right-wingers and their partners, both in and outside Italy, wanted Moro to die and to use his murder as “an excuse to establish an authoritarian regime” (Drake 2007, 39). In the same year that Flamigni released his first book on the Moro affair, the Parliamentary Commission on Italian terrorism started its investigations. The first president was Libero Gualtieri, member of the Left Democratic Party. He was succeeded by his party colleague Giovanni Pellegrino. Unlike Gualtieri, Pellegrino can be counted among the numerous conspiracy theorists. In his book Segreto di Stato – La verità da Gladio al caso Moro, which was published in 2000 in cooperation with journalists Giovanni Fasanella and Claudio Sestiere, Pellegrino focused on the thesis of the “double hostage” (cf. Pelle- grino et al. 2000). According to this belief, several Italian and foreign secret services had contacted the Red Brigades to obtain from the terrorists all the secrets which Moro had supposedly told his kidnappers. However, Pellegrino’s theories were not generally accepted by the other members of the commission. In fact, the commissioners were so highly driven by political motives that even after thirteen years they were not able to publish a joint final report. During its existence the commission not only focused on the Moro case but on the entire “terrorism” phenomenon in Italy from the 1950s to the late 1980s.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 241 Therefore many of the conspiracy theories that were advanced during the hearings were not limited to the Moro affair. When they concerned the Moro case, however, the renewed questioning was in vain. As the following responses clearly demonstrate, neither government politicians nor the secret service functionaries changed their notion: In the opinion of Vincenzo Parisi, head of the SISDE from 1984 to 1987, there never was any “terrorism by secret services” or any interference of foreign nations. He only admitted that sporadic links between different terrorist groups in Europe existed, which were, however, restricted to a non-operational basis (Parisi 1988, 149). Emilio Taviani (DC), minister of the interior from 1973 to 1974, testified in front of the commission that he did not believe in any connection or cooperation between the CIA or the KGB and the Red Brigades during the kidnapping. The Red Brigades, he stressed, were an Italian phenomenon without any interference by a foreign power (Taviani 1997, 390). This belief was shared by Francesco Cossiga (Cos- siga 1997, 556). Andreotti also rejected any “occult story” about clandestine powers and secret services. Furthermore, in his opinion the membership of several secret service officers in the P2 lodge was no reason why Moro was not found and rescued (Andreotti 1997, 551). In spite of all these denials, the left did not stop expressing their allegations. Even the first president of the commission, Libero Gualtieri, was irritated by this zeal. “It is so easy to say that there must have been some sort of a conspiracy. However”, he asked, “how should that have been carried out? You cannot suggest on the one hand that such a plot was organized by secret services that you usually accuse of being totally inefficient on the other hand. That just does not make any sense!” (Boz- zo 1998, 694). One of the reasons why conspiracy theories were once again a heatedly discussed topic was the renewed suspicion of former terrorist Alberto Franceschini. Franceschini, founding member of the Red Brigades, accused Mario Moretti, who was the leader of the Red Brigades during the Moro kidnapping, of having close connections to the language school Hyperion in Paris and of being an agent of the CIA (Relazione 1999, 10; Fasanella and Frances- chini 2004, 150-69). Moretti, however, had earlier already dismissed all these speculations as an attempt on the part of Franceschini to “humanize” the historic nucleus of the Red Brigades (Moretti 1996, 208 and 211-2).

4. Actors and Motives

In the following I want to focus on the question of why conspiracy theories might have been put forward. By addressing the functional character of the theories I want to examine possible motives for advancing them. Due to the available records this area of investigation is rather complex and controversial. As it is not possible to analyze every single motive, I focus on factors which were closely related to security issues and the problem of terrorism and coun-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 242 ter-terrorism. The chronological outline clearly demonstrates that conspiracy theorists can be found in nearly every political and social milieu. During the period analyzed here, the theorists can be arranged into five different main groups. This categorization is, as a matter of fact, above all a tool to examine different motives and should not be misunderstood as a clear-cut classification. Due to shifting national and international conditions, not every group voiced conspiracy theories all the time – with one obvious exception: the members of parliamentary and extra-parliamentary extreme left-wing groups. They blamed Italian left-wing terrorism on Washington, sometimes West Germany, Great Britain or any other member state of NATO. Furthermore, the Italian government under il divo Giulio Andreotti was seen as an accomplice, if not the actual mastermind behind the affair. They accused these regimes and the Christian Democrats of having tried everything possible to block the further influence of the left in Italian society and politics. Aldo Moro, who was blamed for years for the poor economic, social and political conditions in Italy, became a martyr after his assassination. Sciascia, whose book offered the central reference point for conspiracy theories, is a perfect example to illustrate this metamorphosis: While in 1974 he attacked the Christian Democrats and above all Aldo Moro in his satirical book Todo Modo, accusing them of political scandals as well as illegal and criminal activities (cf. Sciascia 1974), in 1978, Moro became the victim of a sinister plot and a martyr. In the opinion of the members of parliamentary and extra-parliamentary extreme left-wing groups, Moro had been convinced that an inclusion of Communists into the government was inevitable. His kidnapping and murder were thus interpreted as another attempt to sabotage Moro’s political strategy and to keep the left out of the government. Thus the conspiracy theories offered an escape route for the extremist left to explain why it was never able to constitute an alternative to the rule of the almighty Christian Democratic Party. By blaming foreign nations, security services and the Italian government, this group tried to distract from the internal quarrels between the different factions of the left milieu, which was the main reason why there never was a left alternative (Taviani 2010, 86-8). For members of the extremist left – and indeed for many contemporary observers –, it was unbelievable that despite the effort of men and resources it was not possible for the Italian police and security services to locate Moro’s prison and rescue him. Since the founding of the Republic, they argued, the Christian Democrats had been at the head of the state and held the post of minister of the interior and thus not much could have happened without the DC either knowing or being responsible for it. The conclusion they drew was simple: The DC government wanted Moro to die and to use his death as an excuse to establish an authoritarian regime. The similarities with the conspiracy theories that the left-wing milieu had expressed during the “strategy of tension” in the early 1970s were obvious. This time, however, the government could not again use right-wing extremists and terrorist organizations to evoke a state of

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 243 emergency. This attempt had already failed due to the investigation of judges and public prosecutors in 1974. Therefore the government and their allies had to find another group they could exploit for their sinister plans. They turned to the left-wing terrorist groups. Now, so the argument went, it paid off that the police deliberately had not smashed these groups in 1974/5, even though they were able to do so (Rodotà 1983, 176; De Lutiis 2007, 22). Arguments that Moro was not found owing to mistakes during the search and misjudgements were doubted. According to Sciascia, “the general opinion voiced by officials and politicians that the State was unprepared for such an attack cannot be accepted” (Drake 2007, 38). Above all, the conspiracy theories offered the extreme left-wing groups a way to reject any responsibility for the emergence and radicalization of left- wing terrorism. Owing to public outcry after the kidnapping, the majority of the extremist left were forced to distance themselves from terrorism and violence as a means of political struggle, to prevent further isolation from the Italian public. They denied any connection with terrorists and at the same time blamed the government and its allies for the escalation. The reasons for the tense situation in Italy, they claimed, were rooted in thirty years of mismanagement by the Christian Democratic Party and not in the left-extremist movement and its legitimate claims. Thus the conspiracy theories were used as a self-defense mechanism and a way to deny any need for an anti-terrorism policy: Italy did not need a more oppressive security policy – what Italy needed was a political change which would end any need for political violence (Hof 2011, 313-4). Measured by its parliamentary representation, this group of conspiracy theorists was small. In the election of 1976, the Radical Party for example only gained four seats in the Chamber of Deputies and in 1979, only eighteen. How- ever, their ranks held many influential opinion-makers and respectable intellectuals, which gave their theories an enormous public resonance. The conspiracy thinking was therefore a way for the extremist left in Italy to become politically relevant even though they had less access to traditional and formal political channels. It was a way to attack and de-legitimize the entire policy of the government and particularly the anti-terrorism policy. A second group which also suspected a sinister plot between Italian conservatives, right-wingers and American or NATO secret services as the true reason for Moro’s death consisted of members of the Moro family and close collaborators of Moro. Besides personal motives, conspiracy theories were useful as a functional tool, even for this group. They offered a way to criticize the anti-terrorism policy of the government before the abduction of Moro and especially the handling of the kidnapping. Like Sciascia and Moro himself, they argued that Moro had to die, because countries like the United States wanted him dead to block Moro’s opening to the Communist Party. This explained in their opinion why the government refused to negotiate with the terrorists. Christian Democrats like Galloni were too close to the Moro family for

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 244 their statements to be regarded as an official party viewpoint. On the contrary: Their allegations are further evidence for the fact that the statements of Chris- tian Democratic politicians have to be treated very carefully when it comes to conspiracy theories in the Moro case. In contrast to other political parties such as the Communists or the Socialists, who had a strict party discipline, no single opinion existed in the DC. In fact, this party was torn between different factions reaching from right-wingers such as De Carolis to left-wingers such as Carlo Donat-Cattin, whose son was also a member of a left-wing terrorist group (Hof 2011, 295). All these factions within the DC followed their own ideological beliefs in assessing the Moro kidnapping, rather than obeying their party leadership, which was usually closely connected to the ruling government. Many of the motives of the extremist left were shared by the Communists after they went into opposition in January 1979. The Communists also exploited conspiracy theories to reject any responsibility for the emergence and escalation of left-wing terrorism and to explain why they had never obtained a position in an Italian government (Pecchioli 1995, 122). However, they used the theories in another context too: to support their demands for another reform of the security services and the police corps. The PCI was one of the main promoters of the reform of the Italian security service in 1977. In light of the tragic death of Moro and the apparent failure of the security agencies, almost nobody was left defending the reform. It was much easier to go along with the general polemic than to face a barrage of unpleasant questions. The security service had the dubious honor of being the scapegoat for the failure of the entire security apparatus (Senato 1978, 11792). However, after 1981, the Communists spotted another chance to turn the table and defend the law of 1977. As mentioned above, it was discovered that, in the light of the P2 scandal, the heads of the security services during the Moro affair were all members of the Masonic lodge. Therefore, in the opinion of Communists the failures of the security forces were the consequence of an alliance between the lodge and the heads of the services. They argued that as puppets of P2, the heads of the security services had done everything they could to prevent a successful search for Moro. The Communists used this theory as an argument to press for new reforms of the security services and the police, especially regarding the selection of personnel, and to demand a mechanism for better parliamentary control (L’Espresso January 7, 1979, 12-3). In this context, it is interesting that the leading Communist conspiracy theorist, Sergio Flamigni, was a member of the committee on internal affairs of the Chamber of Deputies which was responsible for the control of the secret services and the police units. Therefore, in the case of Flamigni, his missionary zeal in distributing all kind of theories might also be explained by a desire to defend his own work within the committee. However, what really separated the PCI from the extreme left was the fact that the Communists only randomly resorted to conspiracy theories during the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 245 period between the kidnapping and January 1979. Reasons for this reluctance might be found in the party’s support of the DC minority government as well as in the Communists’ role during the kidnapping. As Agostino Giovagnoli pointed out, the PCI was jointly responsible for the fact that negotiations with the Red Brigades were rejected from the beginning. The Communists used every opportunity to defend and explain this “die-hard” attitude in public to distinguish themselves from the terrorists and extremists. Therefore, contemporaries not only branded the DC minority government responsible for the handling of the kidnapping but also the PCI (Giovagnoli 2005, 133). Thus, the conspiracy theories put forward by Communists in this period must been seen as a means of defending and legitimizing their actions, which were closely attached to the policy of the DC government. Therefore the sporadic conspiracy theories and the scenario of an “external threat” were used to legitimize their support for the minority government in the eyes of their own constituency. The party leaders argued that the terrorist enemy, feeding off the strength of “external forces”, could only be defeated if all Italian parties stood together for the good of the nation. This would be the necessary precondition for any reform, which had been part of the Communist political platform for years (Ventrone 2010, 115). Furthermore the conspiracy theories also proved to be helpful as anti- terrorism propaganda to strengthen the historic compromise between Com- munists and the Christian Democrats: The trial against the historical nucleus of the Red Brigades in Turin in 1976 convinced politicians that a response to terrorism could only be successful if the state was able to isolate terrorist groups from the rest of society (Senato 1977, 8590-1; AAPD 2008, 1655). It was hoped that the de-legitimizing of the terrorists’ political aims, the stressing of democratic values and patriotic rituals would lead to an isolation of terrorist groups and to a renewed solidarity between segments of the population and state institutions. The conspiracy theories helped to accelerate this process of inclusion and exclusion by helping to construct a common view of “terrorism” as the enemy. In light of the Cold War, terrorists were isolated even more by portraying them as “traitors” and a “fifth column”, thus strengthening the public’s solidarity in the face of this “enemy from abroad” (Crelinsten 1998, 402). The theories, however, not only enabled greater solidarity between state and public, but also offered a common ground for Christian Democrats and Com- munists to cooperate in the field of security policy: Until January 1979, Com- munists, on the one hand, never clarified who the “external force” was. They never pointed to the United States as the mastermind of Italian terrorism as they did after 1979 and thus did not attack the NATO ally of the Italian government. Often the Communists were framed as a “fifth column” of Moscow. By using a similar argument – defining terrorist groups as a “fifth column” of an undefined “external power” – they directed public anger against the terrorists. Furthermore the Communists had been accused of being responsible for the formation and escalation of left-wing terrorism by right-wingers and Neo-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 246 Fascists. Some Christian Democrats rejected these accusations, defended the Communists and, like Vittorio Cervone, also deflected blame to ominous “foreign powers”. Therefore they secured a further backing of the Communists for the minority government, already during and after the Moro kidnapping. How- ever, after the Communists went into opposition again, the DC abandoned this strategy. And therefore the Communists felt once more compelled to use conspiracy theories to legitimize their own policy, to attack the government and to distance themselves from the left-wing terrorist groups. The Communists fluctuated between defending the government and its security forces on the one hand and condemning the Christian Democratic Party and their anti-terrorism strategy on the other by using conspiracy theories after January 1979. However, the renewed recourse to using conspiracy theories to accuse the DC and the NATO alliance of illegal activities was not only a reaction to national politics. It was also owing to the changing international scene of increasing tensions between NATO and the Warsaw Pact. It was a way to counter the constant attacks by national and international conservative think- tanks, accusing all Communist parties in the West of functioning as a “fifth column” of the Kremlin and as a sponsor of left-wing terrorism. The need to deny any connection with Moscow and terrorism was even greater for the leaders of the major Western Communist parties at a time when they wanted to promote their own, new way to Communism – Euro-Communism – and to defend this program against internal and external critics. The people in Italy who implied that left-wing terrorism was controlled by the Soviet Union or one of its satellite states formed another, very heterogeneous group. These theorists considered the Italian state, government and society at large to be a victim of Communist subversion. They were typically right- wing Christian Democrats or belonged to other parties of the arco costituzionale such as the Socialists. By evoking a Communist conspiracy, this group not only criticized the regime in Moscow but also the PCI – in fact, the Italian Communists might have been the main target. It was a way to discredit a political opponent who had gained a major success in the parliamentary elections of 1976 and who had played a very important role during the kidnapping. Therefore, it is less surprising that the Socialist Bettino Craxi, a fierce adversary of any rapprochement with the Communists, tried to gain some advantage within the left political milieu by suggesting that the PCI and Moscow were the spiritus rector behind Moro’s death. As shown above, while the Socialists had already expressed these theories during the tragic events, the Christian Demo- crats – with a few exceptions of radical right-wingers – joined in especially after the Communists went into opposition again. After January 1979 there was no longer any reason to treat the PCI with care to gain its further backing of the government. The time of the “historic compromise” was over. The fifth group in which conspiracy theorists can be identified is composed of the Italian Neo-Fascist Party (MSI) and other radical right-wing parties and

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 247 groups. Due to their ideological background, it is not surprising that they also blamed Moscow and the Italian Communists for the kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro. However, besides discrediting a political opponent, the conspiracy theories also offered other possibilities, which can best be seen by the argumentation of one of the most prominent theorists of this group, Vito Miceli. It is not too far-fetched to imply that theories coming from persons like Miceli were also self-defending tools. Vito Miceli was head of the Italian secret service SID from 1970 to 1974 – exactly the time when the “strategy of tension” struck Italy. In 1974 he was sacked because links between his service and right- wing extremist groups such as Rosa dei Venti were discovered (Galli 1986, 87; De Lutiis 1984, 120-1) – giving some credits and fuel to left-wing conspiracies about state-supported terrorism. By pointing out that he had already warned the government in 1974 of the imminent threat which left-wing terrorists represented for the stability of the Italian state, he rejected any blame for the escalation of left-wing terrorist violence. Furthermore, he attacked the DC and the Communists for having destroyed the only working and efficient instrument for combating terrorism by reforming the secret service in 1977. The latter motif was shared by many right-wing politicians and was the reaction to the accusations of the left of why the secret services were unable to find Moro: Neither the United States nor the Italian government were responsible for the failure of the secret agencies, but rather the destruction of the SID, mainly initiated by left-wing parties to enable a Communist take-over in Italy (Camera 1978, 17807 and 17795). Sometimes, right-wingers also used their theories to promote new and more severe anti-terrorism measures. They argued that the existing laws were not sufficient and that new measures were necessary to combat an “external threat”, and to prevent a further destabilization of Italy by the states of the Warsaw Pact (Camera 1982, 41139-40; L’Espresso February 22, 1981, 6-8). There was, however, an important similarity between theorists of the extreme left and of the extreme right: Both groups reverted to conspiracy theories the entire time. This is further evidence for De Graaf’s notion that conspiracy theories are an integral part “of almost every extremist ideology in which the legitimacy of the existing political and social order is condemned” (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). What about the current members of the government and the heads of the security services during the kidnapping when it comes to conspiracy theories? Shortly after Moro’s abduction, the government and security agencies were confronted with some unpleasant inquiries: Why did one of the most prominent politicians of Italy not have a bullet-proofed car? Why were the bodyguards not trained sufficiently? Why were the police forces unable to locate the “people’s prison”? Some of these mistakes were the result of a neglected and sometimes inappropriate anti-terrorism policy over recent years (Satta 2003, 450-1). Therefore, for members of the government, it must have seemed difficult and unflattering to confess to these mistakes, to initiate a self-critical discussion or

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 248 to start an immediate investigation into its failures. Was it not easier to explain the turn of events by pointing to a perfect attack, planned and executed by terrorists who were controlled by a foreign power? Interestingly enough, however, so far there is no evidence that members of the DC government, the secret services or the police forces who were in office during the Moro affair used in public any kind of conspiracy theories during the kidnapping and in the immediate aftermath. Drake already stated that the “Italian government kept its focus entirely on the real enemy, the domestic subversive groups, that the populace as a whole feared and opposed” (Drake 2007, 60). As in the case of the conspiracies, however, we should also look for possible motives as to why this group tended more towards denying the theories than promoting them. First, the re- jection of any involvement of an “external force” was a direct reaction to the charges from the left- and right-wing milieu of either having destroyed the secret services or being involved in any conspiracy with NATO states or the Communists. It was an attempt to legitimize their own policy as well as anti- terrorism policy and to restore public loyalty towards the political and state institutions – especially in the governance of the DC – by denying involvement in any new scandal. Second, the categorical denial of any foreign involvement and the stressing that the Red Brigades were a home-grown phenomenon were helpful in legitimizing future anti-terrorism measures. This was demonstrated in the debate that unfolded about the two most important anti-terrorism laws of the 1970s: the Legge Moro of 1978 and the Legge Cossiga of 1979. The proponents of these laws argued that the new measures were necessary to prevent a further destabilization of Italy (Hof 2011, 223-30, 249-59). The mutual accusations of being responsible for the mistakes and failures during the search for Moro could also be used to reinforce the demand for new anti-terrorism measures. Only new rules and provisions would stop the chaos between the different security agencies which existed during the search and which left the Italian police “without eyes and ears” (Parlato 1980, 343). Last but not least, this tactic also offered an opportunity to defend the Italian security agencies against criticism and to boost their loyalty to the government, which was shak- en in the wake of the reform debates during the 1970s (Della Porta and Reiter 2003, 275-7; Di Francesco 2009).

5. Conspiracies Today

After years of discussion and debate and convincing evidence that the Red Brigades were solely a home-grown phenomenon, why are the conspiracy theories still alive today? Drake already asserted that, in “terms of human psychology, great crimes inevitably draw many people to conspiracy theories” (Drake 2007, 60). This can be seen in the context of the murder of prominent politicians such as Olof Palme or John F. Kennedy. A recent example can be

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 249 found in the terrorist attack of unimaginable scale on September 11, 2001, which shocked the United States of America and caused worldwide outrage, horror and dismay. For many people, such an attack was inconceivable. In their desire to understand these events, some people found logic in conspiracy theories, some of which sound even more outrageous than the original events (Bü- low 2004). Such behavior is reminiscent of the conspiracy theories that arose in connection with the kidnapping of Aldo Moro, and suggests one reason why the theories surrounding the Moro affair are still discussed so heatedly: the desire to explain the inexplicable and to rationalize the irrational. However, as Richard Drake pointed out, the Moro murder case exhibits a peculiarly vivid coloring due to the country’s unstable political structures and to a judicial system that inspires very little confidence. […] The agitations of the present take place against a historical backdrop of lost wars, foreign invasions, and domestic treachery (Drake 2007, 61). Political parties – now and in the past – are not as interested in a serious examination as they are in exploiting the Moro affair to gain a political leg-up against their rivals. The best examples are the numerous parliamentary commissions from the past. Instead of investigating the case and giving plausible answers to pressing questions, the politicians used the hearings and reports as a platform for political struggle. Therefore the commissions were not a solution to the problems, but rather part of the problem itself. A recent example of the abuse of parliamentary commissions as a way to gain political advantage in the context of the Moro affair is the so-called Mithrokin Commission, which held its meetings between 2002 and 2006. Politicians from Silvio Berlusconi’s government implied that the left, supported by the former Soviet Union, carried – and still carries – the sole responsibility for left-wing terrorism, the murder of Aldo Moro and the “years of lead”. One cannot help feeling, for example, that the final report of the Casa delle Libertà for the Mithrokin Commission in 2006 was written solely to discredit the opposition under Romano Prodi. Prodi was accused of knowing where Moro’s “people’s prison” was located all along, and of having indirect contact with the terrorists. Instead of helping the security forces as his patriotic duty would have demanded, they argued, he obstructed the search (Hof 2011, 210). On the other hand, the political left, such as the former Communist Senator Sergio Flamigni, still tries to reject any responsibility for the emergence and escalation of left-wing terrorism and thus for one of the bloodiest episodes in Italian history after the Second World War. For the left, the conspiracy theories were and still are a mighty tool to criticize the former Christian Democratic Party and its political heirs for the economic, political and social decay of Italy in the years after the war. A political change, the left argued, which was desired by the Italian public and which would have stopped the epidemic of political violence, was blocked by an unholy alliance between the Christian Democrats and “external forces”. The need “to obscure the ultimate cause of […] [Moro’s]

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 250 death, in the culture of revolutionary Marxism, continues to be the primary force behind the political manipulation of the Moro murder case” (Drake 2007, 61). The kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro and the “years of lead” caused a deep wound in Italian society which has not yet healed. In this context, popular films played an important part in reinforcing the view that the government had played politics with the Moro murder case. One of the first popular movies that dealt with conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro kidnapping was Il caso Moro, directed by Giuseppe Ferrara in 1986. The movie was mainly based on the book Days of Wrath by the American novelist Robert Katz, who also wrote the screenplay for the film (Katz 1980). On the twenty-fifth anniversary of Moro’s death, another movie was screened for the first time: The film Piazza delle Cinque Lune by Renzo Martinelli was mainly based on the books of Ser- gio Flamigni, who also worked as a consultant for the director. Not surprisingly, the Red Brigades were portrayed as mere pawns of the American secret service CIA. The kidnapping and murder of Moro was shown as a way to block a Communist takeover of the Italian government. The movie, which was highly praised by Alberto Franceschini, was not only very successful because prominent actors such as Donald Sutherland took part in it, but because the success was also a sign that the theories were still very popular even 25 years after the actual events happened. Not even the criticism of former government politicians, such as Francesco Cossiga, who dismissed the films as pure science- fiction, compromised the success of the movies (Drake 2007, 46-8).

6. Conclusion

Conspiracy theories and terrorism in Italy have been two sides of the same coin of endemic corruption and serious flaws within the democratic system since the 1950s. They climaxed during the “strategy of tension” in the early 1970s. It is the Moro murder case, however, which shines the clearest light on the triad of terrorism, conspiracy, and anti-terrorism policy. The theories enabled the political parties to legitimize their own positions and to deflect responsibility for either the emergence of terrorism or a failed anti-terrorism policy. Furthermore, they helped to legitimize new anti-terrorism measures and to promote a broad support for these policies. Finally, in light of the Cold War, they played an important part in the state’s anti-terrorism propaganda. The left-wing parties and extra-parliamentary groups, however, did not direct the conspiracy theories against the terrorists, but rather against the regimes they believed were backing them. The main objective of this group was to de- legitimize the political system, which was represented by the Christian Demo- crats and their security policy. Owing to their own experience with the security forces during the 1950s and 1960s, as well as the “strategy of tension”, the left instinctively blamed the state. They trusted neither the security forces nor the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 251 government. Whether the state achieved success or failed, the left always suspected that there was some kind of illegal activity behind the scenes. In their conviction, the state and its allies first used right-wing terrorist groups to destabilize Italy in the early 1970s. When this strategy failed, they turned to left- wing terrorist groups. “For them”, as Drake summed it up, “the principal villains of the Moro tragedy are not his Red Brigade killers, but the Christian Democrats” (Drake 2007, 60). In their desire to de-legitimize the government, the Communists joined ranks with this argumentation after they went into opposition. The PCI also used the conspiracy theories as an argument for a new anti-terrorism strategy, which can be seen by their demands for a reform of the security agencies. However, during the Communists’ support of the DC minority government until January 1979, the PCI only uttered conspiracy theories reluctantly and, like some members of the Christian Democratic Party, they never blamed a specific “foreign power”. The priority was not to endanger the ‘historic compromise’ with the DC. The members of the government who were active during the Moro kidnapping have dismissed the theories since the beginning of the Parliamentary Commission to inquire into the Moro kidnapping. In doing so they were supported by officials of the secret services and police forces. Directly after the kidnapping and murder of Moro, however, the government representatives usually refrained from commenting on conspiracies. Therefore, one can agree with Richard Drake’s notion that historical research clears them of the charge that they used theories to discredit the political opposition (Drake 2007, 60). They were more focused on legitimizing their own political standing and on introducing new anti-terrorism measures. In their opinion conspiracy theories were not helpful to achieve this goal. This, of course, cannot be said of right- wingers within different parties such as the DC or the MSI and members of the Socialist Party who participated in the dissemination of conspiracy theories. However, their objective was the same: to legitimize their own political standing and anti-terrorism policy. The conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro affair should not be regarded as a sign of a weak government or a failed anti-terrorism policy in the years 1978/79, just because the members of the government and of the security services – and also the majority of the Communists who backed the DC minority government and its policy towards the terrorists – never voiced such theories. They did not let conspiracy theories get in the way of enacting new laws or strengthening the police services. However, many government representatives were already in office during the “strategy of tension” and they were thus responsible for a lack of transparency and will to uncover the connections between state officials and right-wing terrorist groups during this period. This fostered the public’s distrust of the state, which was one of the main reasons why the conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro affair had so many followers, as the above-cited survey clearly shows. Therefore, De Graaf’s notion that

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 252 the “dominance of conspiracy theories seriously inhibited counterterrorism policies”, not least by undermining the government’s credibility and legitimacy (De Graaf 2011, 116), should not be ruled out when we look at the entire period of the “years of lead”. The Moro kidnapping was not the only affair in the 1970s and 1980s when conspiracy theories were expressed in relation to terrorism and security issues. They are an important feature of the Italian political culture owing to its deep division between the political left and the political right. Furthermore, politicians such as the Socialist Bettino Craxi, who voiced several theories during the Moro kidnapping, later became government officials and thus were responsible for anti-terrorism measures. Therefore a further examination of the functional connection between terrorism, security and conspiracy theories during the entire “years of lead” is strongly needed. What were the consequences of the distribution of conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro affair? There is no doubt that conspiracy theories surrounding the Moro case have placed a heavy burden on political cooperation, especially between the Christian Democrats, Communists and other left-wing political parties after the end of the DC minority government – a burden that had not been overcome today. The theories, however, were not the reason for the renewed split between the Communists and the DC. It was the conviction of leading Communists that the political strategy of the “historic compromise” had not produced any practical result. It was the Communists’ frustration, not the conspiracy theories, which brought about the end of the PCI – DC alliance. The theories that the Communists expressed after 1979 were a clear sign that the time of the “historic compromise” was over. Conspiracy theories still dominate the Italian public discourse and a sometimes self-referential scientific research about the kidnapping of Aldo Moro and about the “years of lead” in Italy. The political situation in Italy between 1976 and 1979, the “historic compromise” between Communists and the DC, and the fact that neither the Italian state nor the Christian Democratic Party can be considered monolithic blocks, have often been overlooked even in academic research. The policy of the Italian government during the Moro kidnapping was, and is, too often identified with the DC party without taking into account the rivalry within the DC or the important role of the PCI. This still hinders a serious examination about different aspects of Italian anti-terrorism policy during the “years of lead”, such as the different anti-terrorism strategies of the different parties and government coalitions as well as the public’s reaction towards the anti-terrorism policy of the state. In this article, I have briefly outlined the genesis of conspiracy theories surrounding the kidnapping and murder of Aldo Moro and their functional character when it comes to the anti-terrorism policy. Furthermore, I have presented a few reasons why this domination still exists in Italy. However, one should never forget another reason for this: It is much easier to find an audience for thrilling conspiracies than for a matter-of- fact, sometimes dry historiography.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 253 References

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 256 Holland’s Own Kennedy Affair. Conspiracy Theories on the Murder of Pim Fortuyn

∗ Jelle van Buuren

Abstract: »Hollands Kennedy-Affäre. Verschwörungstheorien über den Mord an Pim Fortuyn«. In this article we will analyze the functioning of conspiracy dispositives from the bottom up and the nexus between conspiracy dispositives and security dispositives in the context of the political rise of right-wing populist Pim Fortuyn and the various conspiracy theories that arose after his murder and the effects these conspiracy theories had on Dutch politics and society. These counter-conspiracy theories revolved mainly around the suggestion that the political establishment was responsible for the murder or at least had turned a blind eye to it. The analysis shows that although a small part of the conspiracy constructions can rightfully be understood as counter-conspiracy dispositives raised bottom up, in the majority of the cases a blurring can be noted between counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives. This can be explained by the fact that - parts of - the seemingly counter-conspiracy dispositives were initiated, adopted and instrumentalized by actors from ‘above’: actors from the Dutch political and cultural establishment. In fact, an intra-elite competition was being battled out. Keywords: conspiracy, security governance, animal rights activists, intelligence, Pim Fortuyn.

1. Introduction

The rather dull yet friendly image of Dutch politics with its tradition of toler- ance, the willingness to reach compromises on potentially divisive societal issues and a lack of serious political violence was turned upside down within no time at the beginning of the 21st century. The stormy entrance of the right- wing populist Pim Fortuyn on the political scene heralded an unprecedented episode of political polarization, culminating in the murder of Pim Fortuyn by a lone activist originating from animal rights activist circles. The murder of For- tuyn gave rise to various conspiracy theories which revolved mainly around the suggestion that the political establishment was responsible for the murder or at

∗ Jelle van Buuren, Centre for Terrorism and Counter Terrorism, Campus The Hague, Leiden University, Stichthage Koningin Julianaplein 10, 2595 AA Den Haag, Netherlands; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 257-285 Ň© GESIS least had turned a blind eye to it. In this article we will define a conspiracy theory as “a narrative that is constructed in order to explain an event or sequence of events as the result of a group of people secretly cooperating with evil intentions” (Birchall 2006, 34). Conspiracy theories should therefore be treated as ‘coded social critiques’ in which not only facts and truth are contested but especially the ethos and legitimacy of society’s main institutions (Miller 2002). The conspiracy theories on the Fortuyn murder will initially be conceptualized as ‘counter-conspiracy dispositives’ (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue) mechanism through which the state’s rule and ruling practices are delegitimized and (violent) resistance against the powers that be is legitimized. Further, it is assumed that a nexus exists between conspiracy dispositives and security dispositives, meaning that invoking the ‘conspiracy’ accusation on the part of the state functions as a legitimizing argument to introduce new modes of security governance or – on the other hand – as an legitimizing argument for counter-securitization moves and resistance to securitizing agencies when invoked by oppositional actors (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). In this article we will analyze the functioning of counter-conspiracy dispositives and the nexus between conspiracy dispositives and security dispositives in the context of the political rise of Pim Fortuyn and the various conspiracy theories that arose after his murder and the effects these conspiracy theories had on Dutch politics and society. Further, we will analyze whether and how counter-conspiracy theories on the murder of Pim Fortuyn have influenced the construction of new modes of security governance. The analysis shows that although a small part of the conspiracy constructions can rightfully be understood as counter-conspiracy dispositives, in the majority of cases a blurring can be noted between counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives. This can be explained by the fact that – parts of – the seemingly counter- conspiracy dispositives were initiated, adopted and instrumentalized by actors from ‘above’: actors from the Dutch political and cultural establishment. Politi- cal parties and media with a right-wing political affiliation seized the opportunity with both hands to promote their own agendas. These parties and media outlets were in fact definite parts of the Dutch political establishment, but hitched a ride on the suggestion that political and cultural power had been fallen into the hands of leftish elites, resulting in excrescences like silencing political opponents, protecting violent leftish activists, eroding freedom of speech by delegitimizing criticasters of multiculturalism as ‘racists’ and generally neglecting the protests and desires of ‘the’ people. By siding with ‘the people’ in the gap between the leftish elite and the people successfully created by Pim Fortuyn, these establishment actors succeeded in presenting themselves as allies of the oppressed people and succeeded in instrumentalizing the sentiments set free by Fortuyn in a political agenda aimed at forcing left-wing politics onto the defensive. Behind the successful construction of a political divi-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 258 sion between an unheard people and an arrogant, dangerous state elite, in fact an intra-elite competition was being battled out. The conceptual difference between conspiracy dispositives and counter-dispositives therefore runs the risk of labeling conspiracy dispositives as counter-conspiracy dispositives which in fact are the result of a deliberate construction by closet establishment actors.

2. The Political Rise of Pim Fortuyn

On August 20, 2001, Pim Fortuyn announced his ambition to enter national politics and made it clear from the beginning what his ambition exactly was: he wanted to be the next prime minister of the Netherlands. Pim Fortuyn, a flam- boyant personality and former university teacher of Sociology and extraordinary professor of Governmental Labor Relations, had already for several years been seeking the limelight by clear-cut and controversial opinions on Islam, integration, multiculturalism and the leftish political establishment that according to Fortuyn had lost contact with the ordinary people and censured critical stances towards multicultural society by branding them as manifestations of racism. Fortuyn published his ideas and opinions amongst others in a weekly column in the largest Dutch weekly, Elsevier, and in a range of books.1 Fortuyn especially targeted the so-called ‘Purple Cabinets’, in which during the 1994- 2002 period the Dutch Labor Party PvdA, the conservative-liberal party VVD and the social-liberal party D66 had formed coalition governments. Fortuyn’s political ambitions were not taken very seriously by the other political parties, not even when he was chosen as party leader of Leefbaar Neder- land (Livable Netherlands) on November 25, 2001. This new political party was formed in 1999 and originated from local ‘Livable’ parties, which agitated against too much national political influence on local affairs and argued for more direct democratic participation by introducing plebiscites and democratically elected mayors. Livable Netherlands was at first characterized as an “anti- system party with a left-wing populist program” (Van Praag 2003, 101). Dur- ing the course of 2001, however, and especially since the accession of Fortuyn, Livable Netherlands moved to the right side of the political spectrum and turned out to be especially attractive to people who traditionally voted VVD but felt this party had moved too much to the middle of the political spectrum, and to people who hadn’t voted for years (Van Praag 2003, 104). Livable Netherlands and Fortuyn forged a ‘monstrous alliance’: Fortuyn needed a political vehicle to gain access to the political system and Livable Netherlands needed a charismatic front man (Van Rossum 2003). Soon Livable Netherlands

1 Amongst others De verweesde samenleving (1995); Tegen de Islamisering van onze cultuur (1997) and De Puinhopen van Paars (2002).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 259 scored very well in election polls, which took the other political parties by surprise. Fortuyn’s fierce opinions against immigration policies (Galen and Van Holsteyn 2003, 49), combined with his provocative attacks against the ‘Red Church’ and his mediagenic performances (Koopmans and Muis 2009, 651), laid the foundation for his success. Especially cynical voters with a strong distrust against the government were appealed by the political performances of Fortuyn (Galen and Van Holsteyn 2003, 31). As a result of the convergence in mainstream party positions, Fortuyn became one of the few politicians with distinguishing features. Amongst part of the population, the notion prevailed that there was little left to choose during elections because mainstream parties were too closely connected with the powers that be and therefore turned a deaf ear to the worries of the common people; let alone that these parties would be capable of resolving these problems (Pennings and Keman 2002). Livable Netherlands thus displayed certain elements of an anti-state party (Dorussen 2004, 137). The political rise of Fortuyn took place within a riotous and heavily polarized climate. Fortuyn made bold statements about Islam, multicultural society, immigration and asylum policies and his political opponents. Statements like “I’m in favour of a Cold War against Islam. Islam forms a serious threat to our society” (Rotterdams Dagblad August 28, 2001), “You have to understand mosques as a front organization in which martyrs are being bred” (Elsevier September 1, 2001) and “I think Islam is a retarded culture” (De Volkskrant February 9, 2002) provoked screaming emotions and various lawsuits. His political opponents, however, kept their end up and disqualified Fortuyn as “dangerous”, “a polder Mussolini”, “right-wing extremist”, “ego-tripper”, “a political wild man”, “racist”, and “narcissist” (Meershoek and Schulte 2002). Fortuyn’s spectacular rise involved conspiratorial accusations from the beginning. In February 2002, Fortuyn was brushed aside by Livable Netherlands after he argued in an interview with the daily De Volkskrant for the abolition of the constitutionalized prohibition of discrimination. Although Fortuyn had approved the final wording of the interview, he stated that he was the victim of a conspiracy. The chair of Livable Netherlands, Jan Nagel, also pointed in that direction when he stated that the reporters of De Volkskrant who did the interview were members of a think tank of the social democratic Labor Party PvdA, together with other journalists. These journalists were accused of conspiring against Livable Netherlands and of using their newspapers to discredit Livable Netherlands. The interview that lead to Fortuyn’s split with Livable Nether- lands was framed as a part of this conspiracy between the PvdA and ‘leftish’ reporters.2 After his forced departure from Livable Netherlands, Fortuyn

2 Subsequently a debate was started as to whether reporters should participate in these kinds of organizations. The accusations that the Dutch media were leaning to the left and were prejudiced would surface many times in the years to come on websites and in mainstream

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 260 founded a new political party, Lijst Pim Fortuyn (The Pim Fortuyn List) and continued to be very popular in the election polls. However, the LPF also was surrounded from the beginning by scandals and turbulence. It turned out, for instance, that Fortuyn had hired a private investigative agency to screen the candidates for the LPF (Het Parool May 13, 2002). The word was that Fortuyn was shocked by the outcomes of the screening procedures, as at least four candidates of the LPF turned out to have serious integrity problems. Earlier one of the candidates, former police officer Martin Kievits, was already forced to step down after accusations of sexual intimidation. Kievits suggested that the top level of the Dutch police had deliberately orchestrated these accusations. “They had to destroy me because as a member of parliament I would have been too dangerous to them” (Cornelisse 2002). Notwithstanding these incidents, Pim Fortuyn and his party remained popular. According to the polls, a mammoth victory was on hand for the LPF as was a disastrous defeat for the PvdA and VVD. Meanwhile Fortuyn complained about the harsh critique his political opponents were articulating and stated that he was being ‘demonized’. Fortuyn received a range of death threats by letter or e-mail, was sometimes called names or molested during public appearances and during the presentation of his latest book, De puinhopen van Paars (‘Pur- ple Ruins’), that also formed his election program, activists pushed a pie filled with filth in his face. Fortuyn overtly speculated about possible violent actions against him and connected this fear with the supposed demonization by his political opponents. “If anything were to happen to me, they are responsible,” he stated during a television appearance in March 2002. “Maybe they didn’t pull the trigger, but they fostered the climate. This has to stop. This demonization has to stop.”3

3. The Murder of Pim Fortuyn

On May 6, 2002, just before the national elections of May 15, Pim Fortuyn was shot dead at 18:00 when leaving the media complex in Hilversum. The murderer, Volkert van der Graaf, tried to escape but was arrested within ten minutes

media like De Telegraaf and Elsevier. Publications would also follow in which it was ‘revealed’ that Dutch civil servants were leaning to the left and misused their power to sabotage cabinets from the right. See for instance: Sjuul Paradijs (2002) ‘Fortuyn: Desnoods door met eigen lijst’, De Telegraaf, February 11, 2002; Trouw (2002), ‘Helpen journalisten de PvdA?’, February 11, 2002; Willem Breedveld (2002) ‘Schijn des kwaads’, Trouw, February 15, 2002; Jos Klaassen (2002) ‘Lezer heeft ook recht om nonsens te horen’, De Volkskrant, February 16, 2002; Bart Tromp (2002) ‘Journalistiek en complotten’, Het Parool, February 21, 2002; Martijn Koolhoven (2003) ‘NOS Journaal ONDER VUUR’, De Telegraaf, November 1 , 2003; Eric Vrijsen (2004) ‘Regeren: het ambtenarenverzet’, Elsevier, January 10, 2004. 3 Pim Fortuyn in a television show hosted by Robert Jenssen; March 2002.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 261 by local police. Van der Graaf turned out to be a political activist connected to environmental and animal rights organizations. After the news of Fortuyn’s murder was announced, riots broke loose in various cities in the country. An angry crowd besieged the parliamentary buildings in The Hague, resulting in fights with the riot police. A dozen politicians were moved by police to safe houses out of fear for their security. Especially leftish politicians were the target of anger and aggression. Disturbances, however, faded out during the next few days. The funeral of Pim Fortuyn on May 10, 2002, mobilized tens of thousands of people. Millions of others watched the ceremony on national television. National media framed the funeral of Fortuyn as an event of national mourning and deliberately tried to avoid any controversy or political connotation (Pannti and Wieten 2005). On May 15, 2002 the LPF achieved a landslide victory in the elections and entered the Dutch Parliament with 26 seats. After a short formation period, led by Mat Herben who was chosen as the new party leader of the LPF, the LPF became part of a new cabinet together with VVD and CDA. However, the cabinet was forced to resign within a couple of months, partly due to quarrels, threats and splits within the LPF party group. After the 2003 elections the LPF still obtained eight seats in parliament, but would disappear from the political stage in 2006 and was formally disbanded as a political party in 2007. During its short-lived existence the LPF was surrounded by all kind of incidents in which conspiracy theories played an important role. Member of Parliament Jim Janssen van Raay, for instance, suggested a conspiracy when LPF parliamentary candidate and former commander of the Royal Military Police André Peperkoorn backed away and stated that he was shocked by information about sexual intimidation within the LPF. According to Janssen van Raay, it was more plausible that Peperkoorn had information at his disposal about a conspiracy that was being plotted against the LPF. “Because of that he could easily get involved in a moral conflict because he is not allowed to share this information with his political colleagues. I think that’s a more plausible explanation,” Janssen van Raay stated (NRC Handelsblad May 23, 2002). Jim Janssen van Raay for that matter articulated his own conspiratorial explanation for the murder of Fortuyn which, however, did not make a lasting impression. According to Janssen van Raay the Catholic Church was involved in the murder conspiracy. “Those people were certainly worried about the risk that a homosexual prime minister could discredit Rome (Trouw 2002a).” Accusations about conspiracies and coups d’état were also recurring themes in the internal fights and splitting that would finally lead to the implosion of the LPF and its disappearance from parliament (Tuil 2002). The same night that Pim Fortuyn was murdered, speculations and accusations were launched concerning his death. The first building blocks of various conspiracy theories were brought up which would circulate for the next years to come. Accusations and conspiracy constructions first moved into all kinds of

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 262 directions but would later on crystallize into four more or less coherent conspiracy constructions. We can distinguish between (1) the demonization thesis, (2) the animal rights activist thesis, (3) the JSF thesis and (4) the diffuse thesis.

4. Demonization Thesis

The night Fortuyn was murdered, his spokesman Mat Herben stated on national television that there was a clear connection between the murder and the ‘political witch hunt’ launched by Fortuyn’s political opponents. “This murder is clearly the result of the hate campaigns launched by the left, with the PvdA in the lead,” Herben stated (Alberts and Kalse 2002). A week later the same accusation was articulated by the chair of the LPF, Peter Langendam: PvdA and the Green Left party GroenLinks were responsible for the climate in which the murder of Fortuyn could take place (Van Lierop 2002). Five days after the murder, Fortuyn’s lawyers announced that they were investigating whether the politicians who had incited hate against Pim Fortuyn could be prosecuted (Weesie 2002). At the same time they announced investigations into probable faults that the government made in protecting Fortuyn. This last accusation would become the prime focus of the following political and societal debates. Especially the ‘pie incident’ of March 14, 2002, came to the forefront: during the presentation of his latest book, Fortuyn was harassed by activists who pushed a pie in his face and were able to escape from the police. According to the lawyers, shortly before being murdered Fortuyn had asked them to launch thorough investigations in case something were to happen to him, with a special emphasis on the ‘demonization’ by prime minister Wim Kok (PvdA) and the political leader of the PvdA, Ad Melkert.4 On the night of the murder, the cabinet decided immediately to establish a commission (the Van den Haak commission) that was tasked with investigating the governmental protection of Fortuyn. Resolutions by the LPF calling for the resignation of the ministers responsible for the protection did not get parliamentary approval, pending the investigation (NRC Handelsblad June 19, 2002). During the months that the commission was investigating the case, conspiracy theories flourished. Supporters of the LPF organized a demonstration in front of the prison Van der Graaf was locked in as a protest against the time it took the commission to do their job. One of the twenty protesters was Martin Kievits, the former policeman and candidate for the LPF who was discredited with accusations of sexual intimidation. Kievits referred to the flourishing conspiracy theories and stated that the length of the investigation was partly the

4 On May 14th 2002 police arrested the activists, but there was no proof whatsoever that they were involved in the Fortuyn murder. See: NRC Handelsblad (2002), ‘Justitie houdt taartgooiers Fortuyn aan; Onderzoek naar beveiliging’, May 14, 2002.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 263 reason for this conspiracy booming (Leeuwarder Courant September 23, 2002). Conspiracy theories were nourished when media reported in October 2002 that the Dutch security agency BVD had been eavesdropping on Fortuyn (Trouw 2002b). The accusations were dismissed as ‘nonsense’ by former minister Klaas de Vries, in those days responsible for the BVD. At the same time the protection of politicians was the subject of dispute as LPF ministers complained about a lack of protection. According to the political leader of the LPF, Mat Herben, “the state could not be trusted” (Dohmen 2002). Controversies rose again when the Van den Haak commission published its findings in December 2002 (Commissie Feitenonderzoek 2002). Although many mistakes were made in protecting Fortuyn, the commission concluded that no one could be blamed directly for this. The commission noted that the procedures for deciding whether a politician should be closely protected by governmental agencies did not function properly, nor did the cooperation and information exchange between the different agencies involved. Although information about threats being made against Fortuyn was collected by different agencies, the information was not exchanged or analyzed at a central level. The commission further stated a lack of professionalism in compiling risk analyses. On the basis of 25 incidents and threats made against Fortuyn since March 2002, the commission concluded that Fortuyn should have been closely protected by the government; however, according to the commission, personal protection could not have prevented the May 6 murder from happening. More- over, the commission concluded that Fortuyn distrusted the idea of personal protection even when it was offered to him. His party LPF also did not take any protective measures. Besides the ‘pie incident’ mentioned above, another incident popped up in the report of the commission that would become a permanent part of conspiracy theories on the Fortuyn murder. A police team (‘team Escape’) investigating radical animal rights activists had in the beginning of 2002 intercepted a telephone conversation in which two activists told each other that ‘Fortuyn had to die’. Investigative officers who analyzed the intercepted call decided it was not a serious threat; an opinion that the Van den Haak commission endorsed. The Van den Haak investigation further revealed that Fortuyn had been blackmailed several times before his entrance into national politics.5 The commission stated

5 A week later it was revealed that the Van den Haak commission, out of fear of financial claims, had withheld certain information from the report indicating that Dutch intelligence knew about ‘risky sexual behavior’ of Fortuyn. The same information would hit the headlines again in 2005, as a prominent crime reporter revealed secret information left by an intelligence officer in a lease car. Supporters of Fortuyn immediately suspected a conspiracy: it was no coincidence that this information was leaked just before the local elections of 2005. See: Marcel Haenen (2002) ‘Details afpersing Fortuyn verzwegen; Commissie vreesde schadeclaims’, NRC Handelsblad, December 28, 2002; AD/Algemeen Dagblad (2005) ‘Ongeloof en woede na zoveelste fout AIVD - De Vries onthult zondag op tv de inhoud van

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 264 explicitly that no proof whatsoever was found of a deliberate governmental conspiracy to murder Fortuyn, nor any proof of deliberately indolent behavior related to the protection of Fortuyn (NRC Handelsblad December 17, 2002c; NRC Handelsblad December 17, 2002d; Het Parool December 17, 2002; Schulte 2002a; Schrooten 2002). The conclusions of the Van den Haak commission were rejected by the LPF, which dubbed the commission a ‘cover-up commission’ and demanded a new investigation. On the eve of the parliamentary debate in September 2003 on the Van den Haak report, the LPF presented a black book. One of the grievances of the LPF concerned three police and intelligence officers not interrogated by the Van den Haak commission due to sickness; an issue that had been raised earlier by the weekly Elsevier (Vrijsen 2003). Further, the Van den Haak commission was accused of explaining away the demonization of Fortuyn. The commission was ‘prejudiced’, history was being ‘twisted’ in the report and the commission was guilty of ‘subjective value judgments’. According to LPF member of parliament Joost Eerdmans, ‘highly placed political civil servants’ inside the department of Home Affairs refused to give Fortuyn personal protection as this would play into Fortuyn’s hands and reinforce his popularity. Although political leader Mat Herben did not refer openly to a conspiracy, his statements came close to it. “What is it the government wants to cover up?”, he asked on the presentation of the black book. Herben believed it was ‘obvious’ that the cabinet feared Fortuyn was threatening their position of power and therefore deliberately decided to throw Fortuyn to the wolves in spite of his requests for personal protection. “Too many questions have not been answered. We want a new investigation in order to get all the answers. Otherwise the Netherlands will have its own Kennedy affair” (Rotterdams Dagblad August 1, 2003; Wagendorp 2003). In their black book the LPF repeated accusations against former Prime Min- ister Kok and other politicians who had declared Fortuyn ‘a moral outlaw’ by their harsh critique (Schulte 2003). Minister of Justice Donner rejected these accusations fiercely and accused the LPF of unloading only insinuations and suggestions (Schulte 2002b). During the debate a majority of parliament dismissed most of the claims made by the LPF, but decided to launch a new investigation to find out whether Dutch intelligence had been eavesdropping on Fortuyn (Dagblad van het Noorden September 10, 2003). This investigation, however, did not reveal any new facts. Dutch weekly Elsevier, however, concluded that the follow-up investigation revealed that the Dutch security agency BVD had been messing with internal records in order to disguise their blunders (Vrijsen 2004). Through the years several attempts would be made to prosecute

de gevonden diskettes’, December 9, 2005; AD/Algemeen Dagblad (2005) ‘Pim wordt postuum beledigd en kan zich niet verdedigen’, December 9, 2005; De Telegraaf (2005) ‘AIVD: Fortuyn bij reeks seksorgieën’, December 12, 2005.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 265 politicians for their responsibility or complicity in the murder of Fortuyn. None of these attempts, however, succeeded (Het Parool May 7, 2007; Van den Eerenbeemt 2007; AD/Algemeen Dagblad June 28, 2007).

5. Animal Rights Activist Thesis

A second conspiracy theory focused on the network of environmental and animal rights activists that Volkert van der Graaf was part of. On the night of the murder, LPF member Gerlof Jukema stated immediately that a conspiracy existed to murder Fortuyn (Wagendorp 2002). Hans Smolders, Fortuyn’s driver, who witnessed the murder and chased Van der Graaf as he was trying to escape, also stated that Van der Graaf must have had help from others. Accord- ing to Smolders, a car and driver were waiting for Van der Graaf. Fred Teeven, Fortuyn’s successor as political leader of Livable Netherlands, also declared that more people were involved in the murder. Based on information made public by the Public Prosecutor and on his own experience as former prosecutor, Teeven stated that it was “almost out of the question that the perpetrator had worked alone” (Leeuwarder Courant May 13, 2002). In January 2003, Dutch Daily De Telegraaf launched a theory in which the murder of Fortuyn was attributed to the activist networks in which Van der Graaf participated (Koolhoven 2003). A comprehensive article was dedicated to the network of activists and politicians in the city of Wageningen, where Van der Graaf had lived and worked for a long time. According to De Telegraaf, the radical network was subsidized by a range of governmental organizations and public lotteries that supported civil society organizations. It was in these networks that opposition against large-scale farming and biotech- nology and gene technology was organized. Especially GroenLinks had to take the rap in the article. In the 1990s, a member of GroenLinks, Jack Borgers, had disclosed that the BVD had tried to infiltrate the network of environmental activists. “If Borgers hadn’t disclosed it, this could have been the opportunity for the BVD to obtain at an early stage information on the activities and radical body of thought of the future murderer of Pim Fortuyn,” De Telegraaf stated. The same Jack Borgers, by then layman and substitute mayor of Wageningen, leaked on the night of the murder the then still confidential information that Van der Graaf was the perpetrator to the organization (Milieu Offensief) that Van der Graaf was working for. “That way police never had the chance to be the first to speak with the controversial environmental activists and possibly that same night, incriminating material disappeared from the offices of Milieu Offensief”, De Telegraaf concluded. “Was this meant to protect environmental friends?”’ A few months later the story was elaborated by the weekly Elsevier. On June 28, 2003, Elsevier published an article which stated that those animal

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 266 rights activists were becoming more and more violent. Police, prosecution or intelligence services did nothing to counter the activists or were even stopped from doing so by politicians. “Volkert van der Graaf is not a loner”, Elsevier wrote. “He springs from a movement that year after year, day after day, does not take the slightest notice of the law.” According to Elsevier, farmers, mink breeders, butchers and even ordinary citizens visiting McDonald’s could become the target of arson attacks or bomb attacks. “The fact that these attacks until now have only killed one man (Pim Fortuyn) is just coincidence,” the weekly concluded. Elsevier quoted Peter Siebelt, a self-declared international expert on terrorism and left-wing activism, who warned that actions by animal rights activists would only get worse due to the contacts between Dutch and British activists. “The British squatters and activists are notably harder and more professional than their counterparts on the continent because of their cooperation with the IRA,” Siebelt stated. The weekly further paid much attention to the connections between the ‘upper world’ and the ‘underworld’ of environmental activism. “The Netherlands is a real paradise for terrorists and therefore also for animal rights terrorists,” Elsevier concluded. The weekly suggested that the police investigative team Escape was deliberately dismantled because its investigations came to close to ‘upper world’ environmental organizations like Milieudefensie. A spokesman of the farming sector stated in the article: “More people will be killed. Fortuyn will not be the last. Dutch politicians then are also to blame. Police and intelligence are powerless thanks to politics. It is their responsibility that the judicial apparatus is incapable of pros- ecuting and convicting these activists” (Roozendaal 2003a). In August 2003 Peter Siebelt published his own book, Eco Nostra, in which he connected the ‘upper world’ and ‘underworld’ of environmental and animal rights activists. The book was criticized for its suggestion that a world- encompassing, centrally directed activist network existed in which almost every leftish, liberal and humanistic organization was involved. However, the same criticasters argued that there were enough facts in the book that justified a more serious approach to the activist world by media as well as police and prosecution (Gerritse 2003; Vermaas 2003; Van der Hoorn 2003; Meeus 2003a). The book was used as evidence by representatives of the farming industry to call for a tough approach towards activists (Dagblad Tubantia/Twentsche Courant August 14, 2003). The book was also embraced by supporters of Fortuyn, although there was also criticism: Siebelt was working for the ‘old elites’ and was in fact a hired juggler of the Bilderberg organization. An important element in the reconstructions by De Telegraaf, Elsevier, Eco Nostra and other articles (Meeus 2003b) was the intercepted phone call between environmental activists in which they said ‘Fortuyn had to die’. The police team judged the threat not to be serious and didn’t forward the information to the BVD. Only after the investigation into the security and protection

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 267 of Fortuyn by the Van den Haak commission was the existence of the intercepted call revealed. The activists making the call were living in the same part of the Netherlands as Volkert van der Graaf and frequented the same activist circles. The intercepted calls, coupled with the fact that the team Escape was dismantled two months before the murder of Fortuyn, nourished the rumors that police and intelligence were aware of the plans to murder Fortuyn, but deliberately did nothing to prevent the murder (Koolhoven 2002).

6. The JSF Thesis

A third conspiracy theory was also constructed almost on the same night of the murder. A well-known lawyer, Prem Radhakishun, outlined a Dutch conspiracy to murder Fortuyn during the popular talk show ‘Barend en Van Dorp’. Ra- dhakishun mostly asked questions and pointed at facts that according to him were at odds with the idea that Van der Graaf acted alone. How was it possible that a lone killer could escape the Hilversum media complex through a back door almost nobody knew of? Why did it take the emergency services so much time before they arrived at the scene of the murder? How was it possible that the murder was executed in such a clearly professional manner? A week later, Theo van Gogh, a popular and controversial movie-maker and opinion-maker and close friend of Fortuyn, also spoke of a conspiracy to murder Fortuyn. Especially the fact that Van der Graaf had left one bullet in the pistol when he was arrested raised his suspicion. ‘That is a habit only professional killers are acquainted with [...] No matter how paranoid it may sound, I predict that this is not the work of a lone nutcase, but a conspiracy.’6 The connection with the JSF project was made a few days later by opinion- maker Pamela Hemelrijk, who judged the murder to be ‘too perfect’. At that time there was a fierce political discussion in the Netherlands about the purchase of the Joint Strike Fighter (JSF) as a replacement for the outdated F16 fighter. A lot of money and political prestige was at stake, as were Dutch- American relations. Pim Fortuyn was an outspoken opponent of the purchase. A few days before his murder he was visited by the American ambassador to discuss the issue. “What if this American gentleman thought Pim could be a danger for the political stability of this NATO country,” Hemelrijk asked. According to Hemelrijk, Van der Graaf perfectly fitted the profile of a “sleep- er”, a hit man doing black jobs for intelligence agencies. “But closer to home, our BVD is also a much more scary organization than we realize,” Hemelrijk continued. “The powers that be were very nervous about Pim, and him taking office would be not good for their interests [...] I don’t think this was just a

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 268 leftish conspiracy, I rather think this was of much more significance. Pim simply wasn’t allowed.”7 The JSF conspiracy was then further elaborated by thriller author Tomas Ross in his book De Zesde Mei (2003), and later turned into the movie 06/05 by Theo van Gogh. Fundamental in this conspiracy construction is that Van der Graaf was no more than a pawn in a game of chess related to the JSF purchase. The murder of Fortuyn, silently approved by the Dutch political establishment that saw Fortuyn as a danger to their privileged positions, had the function of launching his spokesman Mat Herben, former civil servant at the Ministry of Defence, member of the Freemasonry and visitor of the Bilderberg conferences, into political power. The fact that the LPF, shortly after their entry into parliament, agreed to the JSF purchase counted as the ultimate proof of this conspiracy theory. Further, the JFS thesis was built around all kind of questions regarding ‘unexplained’ facts that apparently proved that Van der Graaf was indeed no more than a pawn. Various issues which from the beginning surrounded the Fortuyn murder came to the surface again: the alleged presence of a second shooter8, the surprisingly fast presence of the police, the intercepted phone conversations between activists, and a cartridge that was found at some distance from the other cartridges. The book written by Ross sold more than 60,000 copies. The movie by Theo van Gogh, based on the book and shown after the murder of Theo van Gogh9, was visited by a large public. In 2010 the same conspiracy scenario hit the television, when the national station BNN broadcast a four-part documentary on the Fortuyn murder. Some 524,000 people watched the documentary. On the occasion of the premiere of the documentary, Ross stated that he believed the Fortuyn murder was a “simple yet brilliant conspiracy […] I know not every- one believes in it. But hey, there are also still people who believe Lee Harvey Oswald killed Kennedy” (Ross 2010). The JSF thesis was applauded on the internet. “The possibility that the CIA with the help of the BVD recruited Volkert van der Graaf in order to safeguard millions or even billions seems a very plausible option.”10

7 8 Which of course is a reference to the Kennedy murder. 9 Theo van Gogh was murdered on November 2nd 2004 by Mohammed Bouyeri, a home- grown Jihadist terrorist. As intelligence agencies again did not correctly analyze the threat emerging from Bouyeri, both murders are frequently named in the same breath and interpreted as comparable conspiracies: again a fierce criticaster of both Islam and the left establishment was murdered with the implicit or explicit approval of the leftish establishment. 10 http://pimfortuyn.com/asp/default.asp?t=show&var=964

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 269 7. Diffuse Thesis

Shortly after the murder of Fortuyn, conspiracy theories appeared on the internet in newsgroups such as nl.politiek and nl.actueel.pim-fortuyn. “Pim didn’t die because of an individual action. I’m convinced that something is rotten”, a writer stated on May 8, 2002, on nl.politiek.11 A first conspiracy theory was published on May 15, 2002, on the conspiracy website Daanspeak, resulting in a ten-part series of conspiracy stories related to Fortuyn.12 The rumors published on the internet mainly mirrored questions and suggestions circulated before in mainstream media: the JSF project, the role of Mat Herben, the involvement of internal or foreign intelligence agencies and the involvement or complicity of leftish politicians. The website Darkisland.nl grew into a starting point for all kinds of conspiracy theories on the Fortuyn murder. Three main arguments were articulated that claimed to explain the involvement of secret agencies and political actors in the Fortuyn murder: Fortuyn was becoming too important and powerful an actor and thus threatened the privileges of the powers that be; his Republican ideas were thought to be threatening for the monarchy and its advocates; his homosexuality was thought to be dangerous for the international reputation of the Netherlands. Judged by the amount of visitors, the website was a very popular one. Within a few days of its launch, the amount of visitors rose from four thousand per day to tens of thousands per day. According to the creator of the website, the different conspiracy theories were not only supported by followers or admirers of Fortuyn. “I think also a lot of his political opponents have their doubts about this slick liquidation,” he stated in an interview. “Too many coincidences are present in this case. Only when it has been proved beyond the shadow of a doubt who murdered Fortuyn will I terminate this website.”13 Just like in mainstream media where much attention was paid to apparently inexplicable issues, the internet too was full of questions. These questions were partly targeted at inexplicable matters, like the question of “how on earth it was possible that a leftish lout was able to shoot that precisely”, the assumed presence of a second shooter and a mysterious gold-colored car, the clumsiness of Van der Graaf’s attempted escape and the quick arrest of Van der Graaf by police officers wearing bulletproof vests and accompanied by tracker dogs (Van der Beek 2002; Van Jole 2002). The common opinion was that Van der Graaf was just a pawn. However, opinions diverged on the question of who was behind the conspiracy and for what reason. The list of possible conspira-

11 Most of the websites mentioned are no longer traceable on the internet. Some of them can partly be retrieved by using the tool ‘The Way Back Machine’. 12 http://www.daanspeak.com/Fortuyn10.html 13 Laurens Lammers, De moord en de complotten, http://www2.internl.net/nieuws/nieuwsbrief/ archief/2002/10/4.it

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 270 tors was long; the entire political and societal establishment could be the evil force behind the conspiracy. Among others, the PvdA was mentioned, as was the drugs mafia, the BVD, the leftish political scene, the monarchy, Al Qaeda and the CIA. Some of the conspiracy theories stretched the borders of the at that time more or less accepted assumptions. Some thought the Illuminati were behind the Fortuyn murder, a secret sect that had supposedly been responsible for wars and revolutions since 1776 in order to obtain world power. After the murder of Theo van Gogh in November 2004, new connections were constructed. According to the writer of a letter to the editor of the Brabants Dagblad, it was no coincidence that exactly 911 days were between the murder of Fortuyn and the Van Gogh murder, just like between the Twin Towers attack (known as 9/11 in the US) and the Madrid terror attacks of 2005. “The next phase of course will be a microchip in our body and the bankruptcy of America. Before we know it, we will be the slaves of the Bush family with its close connections to the Bin Laden family, and the Rockefeller family who earned a lot of insurance money when the Twin Towers collapsed” (Brabants Dagblad December 21, 2004). On websites characterized by their devotion to Pim Fortuyn and his political body of thought,14 the focus was initially on the alleged network of environmental activists complicit in the murder of Fortuyn. Later the JSF thesis received more attention, causing fierce discussions and divisions because old sores and quarrels inside the LPF rose again to the surface, especially concerning the role of Mat Herben. Initially the ‘Fortuynistic’ websites did not start any real investigations into the murder as they merely – just like other websites – reacted to news reports, revelations or suggestions published by De Telegraaf and Elsevier. This changed, however, in November 2002, when the so-called Mishima-Cyber-Command (MCC) appeared on the internet.15 This group, according to themselves consisting of various investigative reporters and former members of intelligence agencies, constructed a conspiracy in which world-encompassing connections were ‘revealed’ between the Fortuyn murder and drug-smuggling operations from Suriname to the Netherlands, the Bilder- berg organization, the JSF project, emission rights and the death of former Dutch politician Maarten van Traa.16 The MCC claimed to know the identity of

14 See for instance . 15 ; ; . 16 Maarten van Traa was a Labour politician who led in the nineties a sensational enquiry into the use of prohibited investigative methods by Dutch law enforcement. October 21st 1997 Van Traa was killed in a car incident. For a moment there was fear in political circles that the car accident was the result of sabotage but no proof was found. Conspiracy theories on

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 271 the second shooter (Abu Fatah, a Syrian hit man), who directly after the hit was transported to Schiphol airport in a dark blue BMW escorted by police. The group also claimed to have video footage in their possession on which the murder was captured. Within Fortuynistic circles a highly secret investigative team was formed that tried to get in touch with the MCC and for several months tried to find proof in support of this conspiracy theory. The investigative team, however, was plagued with internal fights, especially about the trustworthiness of the MCC, which seemed to have gone up in smoke since January 2003. Attention was then redirected to the question of who was behind the MCC: the BVD, the CIA, ‘Zionists’ or others. Furthermore, the investigators accused each other of treason, infiltration and double dealings. Old conflicts and personal vendettas were fought out in the open and members were banned from internet forums but popped up again under different nicknames. Some of the persons concerned turned to alternative left-wing magazines to get the MCC stories published,17 which sparked new mutual accusations of treason and defection. During 2004-2005 the MCC story ebbed away; however, occasionally the story popped up again. The MCC conspiracy theory for instance popped up again in 2007 on the occasion of the publication of a book on the Fortuyn murder by actress and dancer Ine Veen. Former minister for the LPF, Hillebrand Nawijn, was present during the presentation of the book to the public. Accord- ing to the 70-year-old writer, in her book all the names of the ‘real culprits’ had been eliminated under pressure from the publisher out of fear of lawsuits and financial claims. The book was ignored or ridiculed by the main media outlet (Van der Beek 2007). The exception to the rule was De Telegraaf in which columnist Bob Smalhout wrote a laudatory review. Smalhout was also the author of a laudatory preface in the book Eco Nostra written by Pieter Siebelt.18 The book by Ine Veen was applauded on the internet, but also sparked renewed fierce discussions about the MCC conspiracy.19 Individuals who were in the days of 2002-2003 involved in the MCC investigation declared the MCC story to be a complete hoax and even declared the MCC topic taboo for Fortuynistic web communities. The only thing these investigators were still interested in was the question of who was behind the MCC, because they interpreted the

the car accident however still circulate on the Internet. See for instance: . 17 . 18 Publisher Perry Pierik declared later in a book that he had a ‘fine intuition’ for books that would be well-received by readers of De Telegraaf, especially if columnist Bob Smalhout paid attention to the book in a review. Therefore Pierik published a laudatory book on the life and work of Smalhout. See: Lisa Kuitert (2009) ‘Rellen, roddels en complotten; Brieven van Aspekt-uitgever’, Vrij Nederland, February 14, 2009. 19 ; .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 272 MCC hoax as a deliberate scheme to send the Fortuynistic movement barking up the wrong tree. That way, attention was diverted from the real conspiracy and every suggestion about a connection with the JSF project could be ridiculed in advance.20 The different conspiracy theories, however, kept on appearing on the internet. No new information was added, but any event could give rise to renewed references to the theories. The debate started again, for instance, on the occasion of the documentary broadcast by BNN in 2010 in which the JSF thesis was at the center. It was noted by one of the internet scribes that the documentary could not be found on the internet or looked back at using ‘Uitzending Gemist’.21 ”As if they want to disguise this uncomfortable news, so that people that have missed the broadcast are not able to look back.”22 The yearly com- memoration of the Fortuyn murder on May 6 also set off conspiracy stories about the “most cowardly Bilderberg murder in history”.23

8. New Modes of Security Governance

The Fortuyn murder, the failing protection and the different conspiracy constructions that circulated led to different countermeasures by the authorities. On the one hand the authorities tried to invalidate the various conspiracy theories by making them a serious part of the investigations into the murder. The Van den Haak commission stated for instance explicitly that they found no evidence whatsoever about a conspiracy or willful neglect by the authorities. The Public Prosecutor also devoted considerable time and energy to investigating whether Volkert van der Graaf had indeed acted alone. For months hundreds of activists from environmental or animal rights organizations were checked out, observed and bugged in order to find out whether Van der Graaf had accomplices. In addressing the court, prosecutor Plooij concluded: “All this shows that nobody used Van der Graaf as a cover and paid him for the murder.” However, the hope of the authorities that the investigation into the Fortuyn murder and the

20 ; ; ; . A name mentioned frequently in connection with the MCC is JP Mante. According to the investigators Mante is a flunked former US intelligence officer. Mante still frequents all kinds of Fortuynistic websites and is believed to be using a dozen nicknames in order to create as much confusion and chaos as possible. 21 ‘Uitzending gemist’ is a tool enabling the viewer to look back at previous television broad- casts. 22 . 23 .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 273 conviction of Van der Graaf would make conspiracy theories a thing of the past was not fulfilled (Middelburg 2003; Huisjes and Van ‘t Klooster 2003). On the contrary, the explicit statement by the Public Prosecutor that the aim of the intensive investigation was also to disprove conspiracy theories strengthened distrust. ”This wish to exclude conspiracy theories – by which they are trying to oppress the mistrust of the people – will not work, simply because there are more facts in favor of a conspiracy than against it.”24 On the other hand, the Fortuyn murder and the conspiratorial accusations profoundly influenced the security discourse in The Netherlands. Immediately after the murder numerous politicians, mostly from the left, were threatened. The Royal and Diplomatic Protection Department (DKDB) was working over- time in 2002 in order to protect a range of politicians and other public figures. Various politicians were accommodated in safe houses and protected on a permanent basis (De Volkskrant May 27, 2002). The political leader of the PvdA, Ad Melkert, received a cocked pistol (NRC May 25, 2002). Some politicians decided to leave politics as a result of the persistent threats. During May 2002, political parties and individual politicians were threatened more than a thousand times by letter, e-mail or telephone calls (ANP July 4, 2002). Given the huge impact the Fortuyn murder had on Dutch society and democratic order and the subsequent wave of death threats, the level of personal protection of politicians was dramatically strengthened in line with the recommendations of the Van den Haak commission. A new ‘System of Guarding and Protecting’ (Stelsel Bewaken en Beveiligen) was introduced in order to improve both risk analyses and the protection of objects, organizations and especially public figures. The ‘Guarding and Protection’ Unit of the National Coordinator for counterterrorism (NCTB 25 October, 2005) became responsible for the new system (NCTB 25 October, 2005; De Wijk 2012). In the next years, often under pressure from incidents, the new system was further strengthened and extended. Whereas the Netherlands had for years been symbolized by Dutch politicians peddling on their bikes through the city of The Hague without any protection, nowadays politicians are transported in armored cars, accompanied by bodyguards, and public events they attend are heavily secured. A second security consequence consisted of a tougher approach towards political activists or loners threatening politicians. As a result of the above- mentioned media reports on animal rights activism, a political call for a tougher approach was advocated. The Christian Democratic Party CDA stated that these News reports had ‘strengthened’ their opinion that there was a lack of action by the authorities against animal rights activists. ”By now it is clear that we are dealing with a group of people that should be monitored in a specific way,” CDA spokesman Wim van Fessem stated (Roozendaal 2003b). In the

24 .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 274 same article, LPF spokesman Joost Eerdmans stated: “These media reports confirmed my impression that if the team Escape had not been dismantled, Pim Fortuyn would still be alive.” In a review, the weekly Elsevier that started the news reports called it “striking” that leftish politicians were not advocating a tougher approach. “This gives the impression that leftish politicians are not willing to condemn violence by leftish activists,” the weekly concluded (Roozendaal 2003b). CDA spokesman Van Fessem added: “In the past everything left or progressive has been declared sacred. In line with this leftish crimes were extenuated.” Joost Eerdmans (LPF): “In the last years there has not been any attention given to the dangers of leftish violence. Even Dutch intelligence is still inclined to look more to the right than to the left.” The call for a tougher approach was converted into a high-priority approach towards activism by law enforcement, prosecution and intelligence, though no spectacular investigative results would be achieved. The political pressure to label and prosecute animal rights activists as ‘terrorists’, however, failed (AIVD 2004, 20; AIVD 2009, 8). The political climate regarding political activism was moreover hardened in a more general way, especially when it came to threats against politicians. In June 2004 for instance, a lot of fuss was made when two activists who had besmeared minister of Asylum Policies Verdonk with tomato ketchup were released after a short detention, although they had refused to reveal their identities. The day after the incident, a man threatened minister Verdonk during a radio interview, claiming that he was speaking on behalf of the two activists. ”Incomprehensible,” LPF leader Mat Herben described the fast release of the activists. ”There were enough facts and reasons to keep them in detention. There should have been an extensive investigation into their connections with activist circles and their history. Nothing has been learned from the Fortuyn murder.” The spokesman of the social liberal party D66, Boris Dittrich, argued that “the prosecutor should give this death threat the highest priority” and that Dutch intelligence agencies should be involved in the investigation. “Freedom of expression is at stake,” Dittrich stated. “We have to learn from the Fortuyn murder.” The man who had threatened Verdonk was later prosecuted for ‘crimes against national security’, as were the activists responsible for the besmearing of minister Verdonk. The same section of law was launched more often by the Public Prosecution against menacing individuals. This approach was supported by former minister of the Interior Hans Dijkstal, but criticized by lawyers. They feared a too harsh approach. Actions that used to be qualified as frivolous were by now interpreted as the first potential step towards a political murder. The Public Prosecution, however, denied the existence of an orchestrated action to dust off old and hardly used sections of the existing law in order to enable a tough prosecution against activists. However, the Amsterdam-based Public Prosecutor Dop Kruimel pointed at the Fortuyn murder to justify the tough

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 275 approach. ”We have our feet firmly on the ground. The Fortuyn murder has changed the context in which we assess such threats.” The spokesman of the College of Procurator-General also declared that the murder attack by Volkert van der Graaf had consequences for the criminal justice system. “The Fortuyn murder was a turning point. The prosecution is responsive to the spirit of times. The Fortuyn murder was an attack against the democratic order. We have to take that in account” (Algemeen Dagblad June 19, 2004; Schreuders 2004; Vogels 2004; Kruijt 2004). Meanwhile a special police squad, TBP (Threatened Politicians Team), was instituted for the investigation and prosecution of individuals threatening national politicians. During 2004-2011, every year more than two hundred reports of threats against politicians were investigated. By that time politicians of every political affiliation were more or less used to a steady wave of insults and threats. The threateners could be divided into different categories. The category of so-called ‘street language threateners’ existed of mostly Dutch-Moroccan youngsters who insulted and threatened politicians who spoke negatively about Islam or Muslims via websites, e-mails or rap songs on YouTube. Especially Geert Wilders of the PVV (Freedom Party), which can be considered to be one of the heirs of Pim Fortuyn’s political legacy, was the target of this category. Further, there was the category of ‘confused threateners’ formed by middle- aged native Dutchmen with mental health problems. They bore malice against social welfare workers or doctors who had treated them wrongly and worked off their anger by threatening ministers or members of parliament. Moreover there was the category of ‘frustrated’ and ‘frustrated and confused’ threateners: middle-aged native Dutchmen extremely aroused by increasing rents, kilometer taxes or the Islamization of society (Broer and Van Wezel 2010; NCTB 2010). Next to the TBP, a registration center for internet discrimination tried to challenge racism and hate speech on the internet. The prosecution of menacing individuals sparked fierce reactions from internet communities. Especially on websites devoted to the Pim Fortuyn legacy or websites in support of Geert Wilders, the actions by the authorities were depicted as attacks on freedom of speech and renewed attempts to silence critical voices on multicultural society and leftish politics, just as the authorities tried to silence Pim Fortuyn by murdering him. As soon as you publish some critical thoughts on the web, the Thought Police will show up at 5.00 AM, but of course only when you are a native Dutchman with a right affiliation who stands up for his opinion and therefore is considered to be a danger for the multicultural Islamic utopia. The past is brought to life in Holland Pravda country.25

25 .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 276 The prosecution of Geert Wilders on the suspicion of hate speech was framed in the same way. In addition, a fusion took place with a new conspiracy theory which the supporters of Geert Wilders were embracing: Eurabia. This conspiracy construction states that Europe is the deliberate target of Islamization as the result of secret agreements between European and Arabic elites. As a consequence, freedom of speech is to be restricted in order to prevent any form of criticism against Islam or multiculturalism. Thus the same two-faced enemy constructed around the Fortuyn murder – Islam and leftish elites – popped up again. The trial against Wilders was interpreted as the ultimate proof of the leftish intention to silence opposition against immigration and multiculturalism – exactly as the Eurabia thesis predicted. As ‘Rudolf’ wrote on the internet: “The prosecution of Wilders fits the Eurabia script, because he constitutes a major obstacle for the emergence of Eurabia.”26 Wilders also referred to Eurabia in his concluding speech in court: “Only fools believe this is an accident. Throughout Europe the multiculturalists are waging a total war against their own populations. Their aim is to continue mass immigration, resulting in an Islamic Europe – a Europe without freedom: Eurabia” (Nederlands Dagblad February 8, 2011; Kuypers 2011; De Jong 2011). For that matter, the same writers and media promoting the Pim Fortuyn conspiracy theories turned up in support of the Eurabia conspiracy: columnist Smalhout of De Telegraaf, the weekly Elsevier, and columnist Pamela Hemelrijk.

9. Conclusion

This article looked into the conspiracy constructions following the Fortuyn murder, starting from the assumption that conspiracy dispositives and security dispositives nourish and influence each other. The Fortuyn conspiracies have been conceptualized as constructions from the bottom up, which we have la- beled counter-conspiracy dispositives. Their function is to delegitimize the state and the powers that be and to legitimize actions – whether or not with a violent character – against the prevailing order. The Pim Fortuyn murder and the various conspiracy theories have left their marks on Dutch society and political culture, in different ways. The rise of Pim Fortuyn was from the very beginning accompanied by conspiratorial elements. This can be explained by the populist nature of Fortuyn. Populism and conspiracism are closely connected and can be considered to be a match made in heaven as they are both centered on the opposition between a homogeneous, evil elite and a homogeneous pure people as the representation of good virtues, true wisdom and authenticity.

26 .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 277 The inclination to conspiracy theories might be regarded as a logical consequence of the aforementioned perception of the elite as both a homogeneous and a corrupt group (Vossen 2010). Although within populism the ‘elites’ can be represented in different disguises, in the case of the Fortuyn murder the elites were successfully equated with ‘the left’. Furthermore, both populism and conspiracism are characterized by scapegoating. In this case, next to the leftish elite, Islam, Muslim immigrants and multicultural society were scape- goated. The riotous and polarized climate in which the political entrance of Fortuyn occurred, coupled with Fortuyn’s warnings against ‘demonization’ by the ‘Red Church’ and preluding a possible attack on his life with the moral responsibility attributed beforehand to the left for such an event, formed the perfect breeding ground for the emergence of conspiracy theories after his death. Further, two other elements frequently mentioned in social science literature as of importance for the emergence of conspiracy theories were present: the huge impact of the murder going beyond the imaginable (Räikkä 2009, 197) and a series of ‘unanswered questions’ in the reconstruction of the murder (Keely 1999, 117-8). However, the analysis also shows that the conceptual difference between conspiracy dispositives (invoked by the state) and counter-conspiracy dispositives (raised from the bottom up by oppositional actors) is in need of further elaboration. Whether a conspiracy dispositive is invoked top down by the state or bottom up by oppositional actors is not so much a question that can be decided on objective grounds or something that can be assumed to exist beyond doubt, but can in itself be the result of strategic discursive interventions by establishment actors estimating that a ‘counter-establishment’ position will further their interests. In fact, the main parts of the different conspiracy theories on the Fortuyn murder were first articulated by mainstream media, politicians and opinion-makers with a right political affiliation or attracted to the body of thought of Fortuyn or by columnists and opinion-makers with easy access to mainstream media and politics. One could state that political parties and media with a right political affiliation seized the opportunity with both hands to promote their own agendas. These parties and media – with the possible exception of the LPF – were in fact definite parts of the Dutch political establishment, but hitched a ride on the suggestion that political and cultural power had fallen into the hands of leftish elites, resulting in excrescences like silencing political opponents, protecting violent leftish activists, eroding freedom of speech by delegitimizing criticasters of multiculturalism as ‘racists’ and generally neglecting the protests and desires of ‘the’ people. By siding with ‘the people’ in the gap between the leftish elite and the people successfully created by Pim Fortuyn, these establishment actors succeeded in presenting themselves as allies of the oppressed people and succeeded in instrumentalizing the sentiments set free by Fortuyn in a political agenda aimed at forcing left politics onto the defensive. Behind the successful construction of a political division

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 278 between an unheard people and an arrogant, dangerous state elite, in fact an intra-elite competition was being battled out. This blurring between counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives is carried on in both the reception of the different conspiracy theories and the different new modes of security governance that were established after the Fortuyn murder. Both the ‘demonization thesis’ and the ‘activist network thesis’ had the strongest impact. The ‘demonization thesis’ has mainly planted itself into political discourse. Especially Geert Wilders and his supporters on the internet regularly refer to ‘demonization’ whenever political opponents express fierce criticisms. The implicit suggestion is that fierce critique is the forerunner of a political assassination. This constitutes an effective strategy both to underline the underdog position of the PVV vis-à-vis the political establishment and to force opponents to moderate their critique. Evoking the reproach of ‘demonization’ in fact calls to mind the murder of Pim Fortuyn. Sometimes this strategy is used very explicitly. Geert Wilders for instance stated during a 2010 election debate with PvdA leader Job Cohen that for six years now, he had “had to debate while wearing a bulletproof vest”. On the same occasion Wilders referred to the Fortuyn murder when he stated that “people who criticize Islam are being murdered or receive thousands of death threats.”27 The Pim Fortuyn conspiracies thus refer to the future as well as to the past: the alleged conspiracy that resulted in the murder of Fortuyn applies likewise to future criticasters of Islam and left politicians: assassination. Internet audiences in which a virulent anti-Islam and anti-leftish discourse is articulated interpret the Fortuyn murder as a mark of the malicious power of the left and as proof of the bankruptcy of Dutch democracy. Moreover, the Pim Fortuyn conspiracy has by now been blurred with other conspiracy theories, especially the Eurabia thesis and conspiracy theories targeting the European Union, presented as a left-inspired dictatorial project aimed at destroying national sovereignty and individual freedom. One can speak of a homeopathic effect of the Pim Fortuyn conspiracies: without the need to really account for various facts, outstanding questions, futile efforts to prove the conspiracy and speculations that never survived confrontation with the facts, even a strongly watered-down reference to the Fortuyn murder suffices to bring conspiracy connotations to life that point at the malicious role of the left in silencing opponents, if necessary with force. The ‘activist network thesis’ converted itself mainly into efforts to legitimize though security approaches against environmental and animal rights activists. Mainstream media like Elsevier and De Telegraaf took the lead, supported on the political level by LPF, CDA and VVD. These activists had

27 .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 279 already for some time been a thorn in their flesh and the connection with Volkert van der Graaf presented a window of opportunity to criminalize activists, force moderate environmental organizations onto the defensive and introduce tough security policies. Without saying out loud that environmental and animal rights networks conspired to murder Fortuyn, the suggestion was consequently spread that Fortuyn would never have been murdered if only law enforcement and intelligence had taken a tougher stance. By suggesting moreover that leftish activists were being protected by leftish political parties, left politics was more generally forced onto the defensive. The JSF thesis, on the other hand, while being by far the best worked-out conspiracy construction of the Fortuyn murder, never became a serious topic of investigation by mainstream media or the authorities or used as a political tool. Although environmental activists do not come off unscathed in this script, the main culprits are situated inside Dutch and American intelligence agencies, the leftish media, monarchy and the interested business partners involved in the JSF purchase. Further, due to the fact that Mat Herben, the successor of For- tuyn as political leader of the LPF, was depicted as a Bilderberg mole, the JSF conspiracy theory was controversial inside the Fortuynistic movements. A further complication was the fact that the left political parties were fierce opponents of the JSF purchase. Thus the JSF conspiracy theory didn’t fit easily into the favored ‘leftish evil elite contra the good people’ scheme. The JSF thesis resonates more strongly within conspiracy audiences not affiliated with the Fortuyn movements, probably because of the connections with Bilderberg, the USA and the monarchy. The same can be said of the reception of the diffuse conspiracy theories. Be- sides some persistent internet investigators, hardly anyone supported or acted upon these conspiracy constructions. They were ignored in mainstream media or just presented as examples of nutcases who were chasing shadows – which, however, was interpreted by some Fortuynistic websites as proof of another conspiracy: by deliberately carrying conspiracy theories on the Fortuyn murder into the extreme, every conspiracy theory would effectively be delegitimized. This case shows that conspiracy constructions are hardly effective outside directly involved conspiracy audiences as long as they are not being picked up one way or the other by mainstream media, opinion-makers or politicians because it fits their agenda. These diffuse conspiracy theories seem to fit most closely the conceptualization of counter-conspiracy dispositives. When looking at the new modes of security governance established in the post-Fortuyn era, comparable differences can be noted due to the blurring of counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives. Enhanced security measures targeting political activists and menacing individuals were at first dominated by the post-Fortuyn agenda: an offensive against left activist and left politics. The alleged conspiracy of activist networks was deployed in a classical vein by establishment actors to mobilize popular support for a tough

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 280 security approach. Activists acknowledge that the involvement of Volkert van der Graaf in the Fortuyn murder and the subsequent offensive against activists and moderate organizations alike has damaged their movements and forced them onto the defensive.28 Again, the mere suggestion of a possible conspiracy seems sufficient to have the desired effect. However, efforts to prosecute animal rights activists as ‘terrorists’ failed and in spite of enhanced efforts by police and intelligence to dismantle the activist networks, the theme of the animal rights activists’ threat has disappeared from the center of public and political debate. It would be an over-exaggeration to characterize this as a new and lasting mode of security governance. Further, a complicating factor was that in due course new modes of security governance in the context of activists, death threats against politicians and hate speech not only hit left-wing activists but also right-wing populist internet audiences who were not averse to threatening leftish politicians or discriminating against Muslims. Right-wing populists tried to frame these actions by the police as proof that democratic order in the Netherlands had been abolished and that the institutions of the state were held firmly by the left and were being used to silence political opponents – just as happened with Fortuyn. However, mainstream media and politicians from the right side of the political spectrum did not want their fingers burnt by digital big-mouths prosecuted for hate speech, racism or death threats. These examples suggest that the linkage between conspiracy dispositives and security dispositives is more complicated and messy and should not be understand as an almost linear or mechanistic process. Conspiracy dispositives can be used to establish new modes of governance, but these attempts can fail, only partly succeed or transcend the original political intention. However, within these right-wing populist internet audiences, dynamics can be discerned to the full extent in which government is consequently depicted as an undemocratic and hostile entity oppressing the people and is therefore a legitimate target for resistance, and every security measure is interpreted as a deliberate strategy to consolidate the power of the left and to silence the people. Again it is in these circles that the working of counter-conspiracy dispositives and its relationship with ‘counter’ security dispositives can be detected at its optimum. Comparable comments can be made regarding the personal protection of politicians which was drastically enhanced in reaction to the Fortuyn murder. The accusation that the authorities had been deliberately neglectful in protecting Fortuyn was surely one of the causes of this. However, even if these accusations had never been articulated, the enhanced protection regime would have been enforced. The shock of the assassination and the subsequent societal and political polarization were simply too large to ignore. The Fortuyn murder and

28 See for instance .

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 281 the following murder of Theo van Gogh, the threat emerging from Jihadist terrorism and a general feeling of insecurity propelled security to the highest priority of government, supported by all political parties. The enhanced protection regime has by now become standardized and normalized and is hardly the subject of fierce debate. This shows that conspiracy dispositives are not im- perative for the emergence of new modes of security governance. Conspiracy theories surrounding the murder of Pim Fortuyn have left their marks in Dutch political culture. Interacting with the emerging right-wing populism, which has a conspiratorial nucleus, conspiracism has established itself more than before in the discourse and perception of parts of Dutch population which have a fundamental distrust and aversion towards politics, convinced that the Netherlands labors under a politically correct left-wing dictatorship. The Pim Fortuyn murder played an important role in this and has by now been mixed with other conspiracy constructions on Eurabia, the European Union, the New World Order, Bilderberg and the Illuminati. The lasting suggestion is that the powers that be – to be precise: the leftish powers that be – show no mercy when it comes to defending their privileges and power positions. Although since 2002 no new facts or interpretations have surfaced, the various conspiracy theories can pop up again on any occasion. The October 2012 rumor that Volkert van der Graaf was granted probationary release, for instance, started the conspiracy carousel all over again.29 In reproducing ‘old’ conspiracy theories the internet of course plays an important role, as old stories can easily be republished and linked to other sites, by which a large audience can get acquainted with the main conspiratorial themes. Thus one can speak of lasting effects of the conspiracy theories on Dutch politics and society. Howev- er, the fact that main proponents of the ‘counter-conspiracy dispositives’ were in fact closet establishment actors calls into question the conceptual strength and clarity of differentiating between counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives. New modes of security governance resulting from the Fortuyn conspiracies reflect this hybridization of counter-conspiracy dispositives and conspiracy dispositives and have been proven to be only loosely related to the dynamics of conspiracism.

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 285 Cherry-Picked Intelligence. The Weapons of Mass Destruction Dispositive as a Legitimation for National Security in the Post 9/11 Age

∗ Liesbeth van der Heide

Abstract: »Geheimdienste mit Scheuklappen: Das Dispositiv der Massenver- nichtungswaffen als Legitimation für Nationale Sicherheit nach 9/11«. The claim that Iraq possessed Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD) led to the invasion of Iraq in 2003 by the US army. For the George W. Bush administration, the likely presence of WMD in Iraq was the major justification for going to war. However, Bush’ opponents suspected he used the WMD-dispositive as a legitimation for an invasion that was already set in motion for different reasons. The Iraq invasion and the underlying ideas about the presence of WMD thus provide a tangible case for the analysis of theories of conspiracy and security. The development of the WMD-dispositive will be contextualized using the toolkit of securitization theory. The article explores the notions of security and conspiracy that were used to build the dispositive and shows how it ultimately failed and turned into a counter-narrative in which the Bush administration itself became the Great Conspirator. Keywords: security, conspiracy, Iraq invasion, Bush administration, weapons of mass destruction (WMD), war on terror, national security.

1. Introduction

After 9/11 and the anthrax attacks that followed in 2001, fear increased in the United States (US) and Western Europe concerning the use of non- conventional weapons such as chemical, biological, radiological and nuclear weapons (CBRN). Many viewed the invasion of Iraq in 2003 as the culmination of this fear, as the US government insisted that Iraq possessed weapons of mass destruction (WMD) and decided to unilaterally invade the country based upon this assumption. However, no WMD were found in Iraq. A long tradition of propaganda and hyperbolic language has gone hand in hand with preparing public opinion for unusual exertions and potential war. According to Kenneth Waltz, when convincing the public of the necessity and

∗ Liesbeth van der Heide, Centre for Terrorism & Counterterrorism, Leiden University – Cam- pus The Hague, Stichthage Offices, Koningin Julianaplein 10, 2595 AA, The Hague, Nether- lands; [email protected]

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 286-307 Ň© GESIS legitimacy of going to war, a black and white picture must be painted and lines must be drawn between good and bad (Waltz 2001). This becomes clear, for example, when analyzing the Cold War. Although it is now widely conceded that the threat of a nuclear first strike or a Soviet invasion of Western Europe, let alone of the United States, was never a favorite option for the Kremlin, the menace of the Soviet Union was the pretext underlying every discussion on military expansion or offensive foreign policy maneuvers (Gaddis 1987). Sena- tor Arthur Vandenberg told US President Harry Truman in 1947: “You are going to have to scare the hell out of the public” (Vanderberg 2003) in order for them to accept the huge increase in taxes to pay for the Cold War. Indeed, fear became the currency of the national security state, culminating in the “red scare” and witch hunts of the McCarthy era in the US during the 1950s. However, selling the threat and convincing the public has rarely relied on detailed intelligence estimates. In the words of professor of War Studies Law- rence Freedman, it is “indeed remarkable how unimportant such estimates have been in the past in making the case for war” (Freedman 2004, 7). In general, evaluations of the adversary’s resources and intentions, his strengths and weaknesses and potential threat provide important arguments in the political debate on a casus belli, but they rarely cause initial hostilities. Thus, the prominent role of intelligence used in the performative speech act of Colin Powell during a plenary session of the UN Security Council on February 5, 2003 (Powell 2003) in justifying the invasion of Iraq in 2003 was unprecedented – not to mean that this was the precipitating event – and led to a heated debate about conspiracy theories behind the first Bush administration, the global war on terror, the “axis of evil” claim and the presence or absence of WMD in Iraq. In the aftermath of 9/11, the US and the United Kingdom (UK) together insisted that Iraq posed a threat to international security because of the alleged possession of WMD. The UN Security Council passed a resolution (Resolution 1441) in November 2002, offering Iraq under Saddam Hussein a “final opportunity to comply with its disarmament obligations” – as prescribed in several previous resolutions adopted in 1991 (Resolution 687). With this resolution, the UN insisted Hussein should accept and cooperate with UN weapon inspectors to confirm the lack of cruise missiles and WMD in Iraq. Prior to the attack, no evidence for the presence of WMD in Iraq was found, but the leader of the United Nations Monitoring, Verification and Inspection Commission, Hans Blix, felt that the inspectors still needed “months” to verify the accuracy of Hussein’s statements concerning Iraq’s weapon arsenal (Warren 2002). In March 2003, the Bush administration told the weapon inspectors behind the scenes to quit their work and leave Iraq (Knight 2003). On March 20, a US- led coalition invaded Iraq without a war declaration, leading to the fall of Hus- sein’s regime in April 2003 and the occupation of the country. Following his capture by US soldiers in December 2003, Hussein was later tried and found guilty in an Iraqi court and consequently executed by the new Iraqi government

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 287 in Northern Baghdad (BBC News December 30, 2006). After the invasion, the Iraq Survey Group (ISG), a fact-finding mission sent to the country by the coalition to investigate the weapons claims, concluded that Iraq had ended its chemical, biological and nuclear program in 1991 and currently had no active weapon programs (Kay 2003). At the same time, the ISG stated that Iraq planned to resume its production as soon as the international sanctions against the country were lifted. The purpose of this article is twofold. First, it is to reconstruct the discourse of the US-backed alleged Iraqi conspiracy to produce WMD and the “securitization” of the WMD threat as a justification for launching the Iraq invasion. Second, the paper intends to conduct a discourse analysis in the manner of Michel Foucault, using his concept of the security dispositive to inquire into the internal conditions of the discourse on the alleged Iraqi WMD possession, further operationalized by means of the conceptual toolkit of Securitization Theory. Securitization is an extreme version of politicization that enables the use of extraordinary means in the name of security (Buzan, Waever, and De Wilde 1998, 25). Balzacq defined securitization as an articulated assemblage of practices whereby heuristic artifacts (metaphors, policy tools, image repertoires, […], etc.) are contextually mobilized by a securitizing actor, who works to prompt an audience to build a coherent network of implications (feelings, sensations, thoughts and intuition), about a critical vulnerability of a referent object, that concurs with the securitizing actor’s reasons for choices and actions, by investing the referent subject with such an aura of unprecedented threatening complexion that a customized policy must be undertaken immediately to block its development (2011, 3). For democratic regimes to be successful in their assertions, the securitizing act must be accepted by an empowering audience. Securitization theory aims to understand “who securitizes (actors), what issues (threat assessment), for whom (referent object), why, with what results, and not least, under what conditions” (idem 1998, 32). In the case of the Iraq war, the question is whether the idea or theory that Iraq possessed WMD was a conspiracy legitimizing the extreme security measure of the invasion of Iraq. Legitimation is defined as “a process of normative evaluation from which the ascribed quality of legitimacy emerges” (De Graaf and Zwierlein 2013, in this HSR Special Issue). First, the context of the Iraq War will be sketched by providing a concise history of the Gulf War. Second, the focus will be on the months leading up to the invasion in 2003 and the narrative that was constructed to justify the war. Third, the discourse after the invasion will be reconstructed by analyzing the main actors, narratives, controversies and the development of the “conspiracy dispositive” behind the Iraq war. The Iraqi conspiracy was constructed based upon power-knowledge relations utilized by different actors, who continuously frame and re-frame the subject and object of the threat. During the Gulf War, Hussein was the subject of the threat and Kuwait the object. This subject-object threat relation was extended to Iraq as the subject of threat and US national

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 288 security as the object during the Iraq war in 2003. Bush even stretched the subject to the “axis of evil” subject, threatening “our way of living”, resulting in the WMD dispositive. The WMD dispositive was essentially the narrative of the alleged Iraqi conspiracy to produce and possess WMD. However, in the end the conspiracy dispositive was switched around by the public when no WMD were found in Iraq, resulting in the alleged Bush conspiracy: where many were convinced that the Bush administration deliberately sought ways to invade Iraq. Through the creation of these grotesque subject-object threat definitions, the use of extensive security measures is legitimized. The article will methodologically follow the trail of the construction of the narrative through the lens of the “conspiracy dispositive” and by using the elements of securitization theory (actors, subject-object threat definition, threat assessment) to structurally analyze the narrative. The reconstruction of the narrative will lead to some preliminary conclusions on the use of intelligence and the function of the conspiracy dispositive to legitimize national security in the post 9/11 age.

2. History of the Gulf War

In 1979, Saddam Hussein gained power as the successor of President Ahmed Hassan Al-Bakr (who was forced to resign by Hussein), becoming both president and chairman of the Revolutionary Command Council. Between 1980 and 1988, Iraq engaged in an eight-year war with Iran over territorial disputes, known as the longest conventional war of the twentieth century (Javid 2010). Just after the war ended in 1988, Hussein invaded Kuwait over another long- standing territorial dispute in 1990. Out of fear that the Iraq army would invade Saudi Arabia, US President George Bush Sr. quickly announced that the US would launch a “wholly defensive” mission to prevent Iraq from invading Saudi Arabia. The UN Security Council adopted Resolution No. 687 in No- vember 1990, demanding complete withdrawal of Iraqi troops from Kuwait. When Iraq failed to comply with the UN’s demand, the UN-backed, US-led Gulf War commenced in 1991. In his address to the Joint Session of Congress on September 11, 1990, US President George Bush Sr. said: “Within three days, 120,000 Iraqi troops with 850 tanks had poured into Kuwait and moved south to threaten Saudi Arabia. It was then that I decided to act to check that aggression”. The Pentagon claimed in September 1991 that satellite photos showing a buildup of Iraqi forces along the border were the source of the information, but this was later shown to be false. A reporter for the Saint Petersburg Times acquired two commercial Soviet satellite images made at the time in question, which showed nothing but empty desert (Peterson, 2002). Other motivations for the Gulf War included Iraq’s alleged possession of chemical and biological weapons, the abuse of human rights under Hussein’s government and Iraq’s

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 289 nuclear capabilities – although a report about the nuclear programs in January 1991 was declassified by the CIA (Atomic Scientists of Chicago 2003, 33). A US-led coalition force of 34 countries started the Gulf War in January 1991 with an extensive aerial bombing campaign. In total, the death toll in Iraq between August 1990 and February 1991 was estimated to be as many as 100,000 soldiers and tens of thousands of civilians on both sides (between 20,000 and 30,000 casualties on Iraqi side). Yet Iraq was not to be liberated along with Kuwait and thus, the regime itself was allowed to survive. The decision by President Bush Sr. not to push through to Baghdad and topple Saddam Hus- sein’s regime was viewed by many contemporaries as a prudent, yet dangerous decision; one which was later asserted by his son, Bush Jr., as a political failure.

3. 1991-2001

After the Gulf War, the United Nations Special Commission (UNSCOM) was set up in 1991 as an inspection regime to ensure Iraq’s compliance with UN weapons policies concerning the production and use of WMD after the Gulf War (Zilinskas 1995, 232). The Commission reported in 1998 that Iraq had failed to provide a full account of its biological weapons program, thus leading many to believe that the country still retained biological agents in several places. Besides the UNSCOM reports, based on aerial and satellite intelligence, US sources believed that Baghdad was storing a significant amount of chemical weapons in secret. This conclusion was shared by an independent analysis carried out by four researchers of the Carnegie Endowment (Carnegie Endowment Issue Brief No. 11, 2002). As for nuclear capabilities, the general belief was that Iraq was not in the position of acquiring those in the near future. However, nobody really knew when or how Iraq would possess the means to deliver nuclear, chemical or biological weapons (Tucker 2002). Between 1991 and 2001, the dispute between Iraq and the UN about the inspection of Iraq’s weapons arsenal lingered on. Hussein’s cooperation with the inspection teams was questioned several times. Instead of complying with the demands made by the UN, he resisted the UN Special Commission’s attempts to destroy materials and facilities for the production of WMD repeatedly. The post-war policy practiced by the US and the UN was characterized as a policy of “containment”, including significant coercive elements. Especially the US tried to put pressure on Iraq through the UN by suggesting resolutions and adapting strong(er) language and measures towards Hussein’s regime. A UN resolution condemned the suppression of the Kurds in Northern Iraq and provided grounds for installing a no-fly zone. Another resolution by the Security Council permitted the use of “all necessary means” to manage conflict with

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 290 Iraq, leaving room for the use of force (United Nations 1990). Thus, the tone towards Baghdad grew bolder. In 1993, the FBI asserted that Hussein had attempted to assassinate former President Bush during an earlier visit to Kuwait (FBI Laboratory 1993). As a response to Iraq’s alleged assassination plot, US warships stationed in the Persian Gulf and the Red Sea launched a cruise missile attack on the Iraqi Intelligence Service building in downtown Baghdad. President Clinton briefed the then presidential candidate – and son of the former president – George W. Bush about the plot and the response in December 2000, expressing his regret that the world’s two most dangerous people, including Hussein, were still alive and free. He warned Bush that Hussein “will cause you a world of problems” (Chollet and Goldgeier 2008). American military presence in neighboring countries and continued economic sanctions on Iraq maintained pressure on the resistant Hussein regime throughout the 1990s. However, on the international stage, loosening the pressure on Iraq was advocated, making the containment policy increasingly problematic. Within the US, voices demanding a toughening policy regarding Iraq became increasingly loud. This became clear in January 1998, when the neoconservative think-tank Project for a New American Century sent an open letter to the president urging a new policy towards Iraq with the ultimate goal of overthrowing Saddam Hussein and removing his regime from power. The only acceptable strategy is one that eliminates the possibility that Iraq will be able to use or threaten to use weapons of mass destruction. In the near term, this means a willingness to undertake military action as diplomacy is clearly failing. In the long term, it means removing Saddam Hussein and his regime from power. That now needs to become the aim of American foreign policy (Project for the New American Century 1998). Many distinguished politicians, authors and thinkers signed the letter, Francis Fukuyama, Donald Rumsfeld and Paul Wolfowitz among them (Wedel 2007, 170). Ten of the eighteen signatories later joined the Bush Administration and were heavily involved in the Iraq invasion in 2003. The signers argued that Hussein would pose a threat to the US, its Middle East allies (and their oil resources in the region), if he succeeded in maintaining his “stockpile of WMD”. The PNAC neoconservatives did not seriously expect President Clin- ton to attack Iraq in any meaningful way, one of the authors later concluded. Instead, they were positioning themselves for the future. “The neocons were maneuvering to put this issue in play and box President Clinton in. Now, they could draw a dichotomy. They could argue to their next candidate, ‘Clinton was weak. You must be strong’” (Unger 2007, 158). These neoconservative policy makers and intellectuals spread their views and kept the cause of dispos- ing of Hussein’s regime alive during the mid- and late 1990s through scholarly conferences, forums and foreign policy magazines. When many of the signatories returned to power in the Bush administration, their views dominated the administration’s policy, defining a significant conservative shift in US foreign

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 291 policy. Also in 1998, UNSCOM called its inspection team back due to a lack of cooperation on Hussein’s side. Following the reports about continuing Iraqi obstruction, air strikes against military facilities and governmental targets were initiated in December 1998 by the US president at that time, Bill Clinton. The strikes were mainly justified by emphasizing the reinforcement of the containment policy, reminding Hussein that if he did not comply with UN demands, the coalition of the US and the UK was prepared to act. Looking at the years between the Gulf War and 9/11, analysis shows that uncertainty was the defining factor in assessing Iraqi capabilities, even though the different political actors in the field all advocated their own interests in the debate on Iraq. The neoconservatives, being a product of the Reagan era, had been advocating a tough position towards Iraq for a long time and they occupied influential positions in the political arena, both in the White House and in the Pentagon. President Bush relied heavily on this group of inner circle political advisors (called the Vulcans) with a long shared experience in government dating back to Ford, Reagan, Nixon and the first Bush administration (Mann & Mann 2004). The top six members of the Vulcans were Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, Donald Rumsfeld, Paul Wolfowitz, Condoleezza Rice and Richard Armitage. After Bush’s electoral victory in 2001, it was widely expected that the Vulcans would restore US foreign policy to its conservative roots, just as they did under earlier Republican administrations. There was constant tension between Iraq (as Hussein refused to provide openness and compliance with UN weapons inspectors) and the US (where internal political forces were pushing for action). President Clinton, on the other hand, had a more internationalist, legalistic approach and was less inclined to ideologically driven unilateral interventions. According to Condoleezza Rice, for the Clinton administration “the support of many states – or even better, of institutions like the United Nations – is essential to the legitimate exercise of power” (Kagan 2004). In the US political arena, the neoconservatives thus were the driving force presenting the Republican point of view, advocating the use of force and regime change in Iraq, while the Clinton administration did not securitize the issue of WMD and opposed the interventionists’ calls for invasion. Often, the tensions led to UN resolutions and in some cases to the explicit use of force. However, over the years no convincing narrative was constructed on the basis of which a full- blown war could be initiated. Threat assessment thus remained a difficult exercise, which is why many on the international political stage stressed the need for weapon inspectors to go back into Iraq. Later Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld headed the nine-member Commission to assess the Ballistic Missile Threat to the United States from January to July 1998. In its findings, the commission concluded that Iraq, Iran, and North Korea could develop intercontinental ballistic missile capabilities in five to ten years and that US intelligence would have little warning before such systems were deployed. When asked about the time he headed the Commis-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 292 sion, Rumsfeld – who in the meantime had become Secretary of Defense – stressed the importance of the “unknown unknowns” in a famous statement to the press in February 2002. “Known threats are not the worry,” he said. The real killers were the times when US intelligence didn’t even know what they didn’t know (Woodward 2005, 320). From the perspective of the evolving dispositive of Hussein’s possession of WMD, Rumsfeld’s statement played a crucial role in the build-up of the conspiracy dispositive. Instead of falsifying the narrative due to lack of evidence of the presence of WMD, Rumsfeld actually extends the scope of the conspiracy by arguing that if we cannot see or find the weapons of mass destruction, it means they are hidden even better than we thought. He argues: what we see is not what we see; bigger threats loom in the background. The impact of such a statement cannot be underestimated, especially since it can never be refuted. It reinforces the idea of an evil enemy plotting against “us”, and if we do not see it, that only means the enemy is even smarter and more dangerous than we thought. In the construction of conspiracy narratives, what kind of knowledge is “true” is not a matter of objectivity but a social construction reflecting the power positions of those who are capable of discriminating between “real knowledge” and “false knowledge” (Miller 2002). The object and the subject of the threat were extended throughout the creation of the conspiracy dispositive of Hussein’s alleged possession of WMD. First, Saddam Hussein himself was posed as the subject of the threat, and the object of threat was Kuwait, which Hussein threatened to invade. However, the neoconservatives extended the object of threat by arguing that it was not just Kuwait, but now also US national security that was being threatened by Hus- sein’s regime. The actors advocating this conspiracy narrative had been voicing their interventionist ideas ever since the first Gulf War, through public letters, articles in foreign affairs magazines and lobbying in and around the White House. By extending the threat to US national security and constructing the WMD dispositive, the room for security policies and measures to counter this threat was stretched significantly. If weapons of mass destruction, threaten to be used against the US, the government is allowed to do anything in its power to counter the WMD threat, using force if necessary. President Bush senior’s resistance towards toppling Hussein’s regime in 1991 had important implications for his son, George W. Bush, who later called his father’s decisions a political failure (Lemann 2009). In 2001 republican candidate George W. Bush was elected president. During his campaign, he sent mixed messages on his stand on Iraq. On one hand, his attitude was non-interventionist; saying that the US should be “humble abroad” and not “engage in nation-building”, and that the US should not commit itself to things like Clinton’s Bosnia and especially the disastrous Somalia mission (Suskind 2004). On the other hand, he promised to deal with Saddam Hussein in a way “he won’t like” if he were to be found developing WMD (Freedman 2004, 15). Bush was inexperienced in foreign policy before he announced his

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 293 candidacy for the presidency. He was reportedly introduced to Condoleezza Rice in 1998, at his father’s initiative, and during the two years before his inauguration he attended several sessions on foreign policy with Rice, Wolfowitz and the other Vulcans.

3. Months Leading up to the Iraq War

3.1 Aftermath of 9/11 The 9/11 attacks proved to be the turning point in US foreign policy concerning Iraq. On the afternoon of September 11, Secretary of Defense in the Bush administration Donald Rumsfeld issued rapid orders to his aides to look for evidence of possible Iraqi involvement regarding the attacks on the World Trade Centre and the Pentagon. According to notes taken by senior policy official Stephen Cambone, he issued orders saying “Best info fast. Judge whether good enough to hit SH (Saddam Hussein) at same time. Not only UBL (Osama bin Laden)”. Cambone’s notes also quoted Rumsfeld as saying “Need to move swiftly – Near term target needs – go massive – sweep it all up. Things related and not” (Borger 2006; Roberts 2009). That evening President Bush spoke to the nation from the Oval Office. In his address to the nation he declared that the US would “make no distinction between the terrorists who committed these acts and those who harbor them” (CNN 2001). To many observers, the president’s words set the tone and direction for the Bush administration’s policy on Iraq (Lindviksmoen 2007, 9). President Bush himself never publicly blamed Iraq or Hussein for the 9/11 attacks, but he consistently linked Iraq and Saddam Hussein with terrorism and al Qaeda, thus providing the context from which such a connection could be made. He also never publicly connected Hussein to Osama bin Laden, the leader of al Qaeda (Gershkoff and Kushner 2005, 525). Even so, research shows that Bush successfully framed the war in Iraq as part of the war on terror and an extension of the response to 9/11 (idem, 527). During a Pentagon briefing, Paul Wolfowitz (Undersecretary of Defense) elaborated on the president’s words, announcing the enlargement of the “war on terror” to include Iraq. I think one has to say it is not just simply a matter of capturing people and holding them accountable, but removing the sanctuaries, removing the support systems, ending states who sponsor terrorism. And that’s why it has to be a broad and sustained campaign (Warner 2001). Through quotes like these, the narrative of the WMD dispositive was successfully incorporated into the global war on terrorism, and also included states which supported terrorism, leading to the effective securitization of the threat posed by Iraq. Now, the subject of threat became not just Iraq but also Bin

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 294 Laden and al Qaeda, while the object (that which is under threat) shifted from US national security to global security. In the days following the attacks, an invasion of Iraq was actively debated between Bush’s security team and key players Donald Rumsfeld, Dick Cheney, Colin Powell, Condoleezza Rice and Paul Wolfowitz. However, it was decided that the initial military response would be confined to Afghanistan, as harbor- ing the Bin Laden network. Rumsfeld later recalled questioning Bush’s intended response of attacking terrorists – no matter from which territory they planned and operated. He wondered whether that would include attacking American allies. He therefore recommended broadening the scope to include state sponsors of terror, including Sudan, Libya, Iraq and Iran (Rumsfeld 2011, 346). However, Colin Powell and others were alarmed by both Wolfowitz’s inflammatory words about “ending states” and Rumsfeld’s recommendations. Powell responded during a meet-the-press: “We’re after ending terrorism. And if there are states and regimes, nations that support terrorism, we hope to per- suade them that it is in their interest to stop doing that. But I think ending terrorism is where I would like to leave it, and let Mr. Wolfowitz speak for himself” (Tyler and Sciolino 2001, 1). Thus, the two narratives of interventionist versus containment policy clashed through speeches and public statements. Ultimately, Powell had to give in and the militant narrative, building on the WMD dispositive, overruled the legalistic, internationalist approach.

3.2 2002 In his first State of the Union address in January 2002, Bush declared Iraq, Iran and North Korea to be “an axis of evil”. This statement can be viewed as the official endorsement of the most extensive conspiracy narrative to that point, both regarding subject and object of the security threat postulated. By labeling some countries an “axis of evil”, this axis figuratively divided the whole world and threatened not just a territory but a way of living. In that same speech, he laid the foundation for the invasion of Iraq when he said that the real peril and potential catastrophe was the growing availability of Weapons of Mass De- struction to terrorists or to these regimes (Woodward 2005, 329). In the weeks following his speech, the US increased support to the Iraqi opposition, intensified intelligence gathering inside Iraq and made preparations for the deployment of US Special Forces and CIA paramilitary teams – all of these measures legitimized by the exceptional, broad threat. In April, Bush declared publicly that he wanted regime change in Iraq. In June, adding to this, the president declared that he would launch a preemptive attack against any country posing a serious threat to the US. Here, it becomes visible how the WMD conspiracy dispositive was actively constructed by the Bush administration. First, the conspiracy of Hussein’s alleged possession of WMD was launched. Second, this conspiracy dispositive

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 295 became the starting point upon which the narrative was built – in which the subject and object of threat were broadly defined and extended over time, legitimizing a large-scale response of security measures and policies. The fact that Bush Sr. initially chose to leave Hussein in power was seen as a political failure, reinforcing the idea that something definitely had to be done this time. Between June and August, speculation about Iraq filled the news media. During the last months of 2002, the Bush Administration began pushing for international support for an invasion of Iraq. In an interview in August, Bush addressed the Iraq issue by saying: “We may or may not attack. I have no idea, yet. But it will be for the objective of making the world more peaceful”, thereby confirming the idea that the world at large was under threat and creating the necessity for a grand strategic counter-narrative. On the morning of August 27, The New York Times opened on the front page with the quote: “Cheney says peril of a nuclear Iraq justifies attack”. The introduction of the Homeland Security Act, in the aftermath of 9/11, marked another important building block in the construction of the conspiracy narrative. The Homeland Security Act, introduced by the Bush administration after 9/11 and enacted on November 25, 2002, purported to be the largest reor- ganization of the Department of Defense since the Second World War. Military power in the US is organized (unlike most civilian state functions such as education and healthcare) through federal institutions and the president acting as Commander-in-Chief. Symbolically, the military and the concept of national security are very much tied to the nation-state. The recourse to military symbolism following 9/11 thus used the role of the military as a “glue” to connect the concepts of citizenship, power and nationhood to each other.

3.3 European Actors In Europe, the conspiracy narrative did not gain ground so easily. Most Euro- pean countries had a common problem vis-à-vis the Iraqi conflict: a situation in which most European people did not consider Iraq a direct, imminent threat but the US (and Britain) pressing for action. Making the case for war was only possible if solid arguments about the WMD threat could have been provided by the official channels of UNSCOM and the Security Council. This was, however, not the case. Summarizing, we can conclude that two clashing narratives divided the two sides of the Atlantic. In the US, the failure of Bush Sr. to topple Hussein’s regime in 1991 echoed through in US foreign policy and was picked up by the neoconservatives who gained more and more support for the conspiracy narrative that Hussein possessed WMD and posed a threat to the US. After 9/11, the object and subject of threat were largely extended to a global war on terror, in which an “axis of evil” threatened the liberal, western way of living, leading to the justification of a megalomaniac package of security measures that needed

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 296 to be taken. In Europe, some politicians and heads of government bought into the Bush narrative (notably the UK and Spain), but the overall European perspective remained firmly embedded in the dispositive of a legalistic UN approach and united international attempts at diplomatic solutions. The European states underlined the lack of convincing evidence, not just concerning the possible link between Saddam and al Qaeda, but also concerning current Iraqi capabilities. But in the eyes of Washington, Europe’s unwillingness to consider even the potential, longer-term Iraqi threat as a priority severely weakened its bargaining position to influence US policy.

3.4 The Invasion of Iraq The US, Britain and Spain together proposed the so-called 18th resolution in the beginning of 2003, in order to provide a deadline for Iraq to comply with previous resolutions enforced by the threat of military action. However, the resolution was withdrawn due to lack of support on the UN Security Council. In particular, NATO members France, Germany and Canada and non-NATO member Russia were opposed to military intervention in Iraq – arguing that the level of risk to international security was too high (Chirac, Putin 2003). In- stead, they defended disarmament through diplomacy, thereby reinforcing their UN, legalistic, internationalist approach – opposed to the US WMD conspiracy dispositive. The campaign leading to the invasion of Iraq culminated in Secretary of State Colin Powell’s presentation to the UN Security Council on February 5, 2003. This was an utterly important performance in light of the construction of the conspiracy narrative, since Powell himself had always been viewed as a more moderate voice in the debate on Iraq. During his speech, Powell visualized the conspiracy dispositive by showing satellite images, playing intercepted telephone calls and holding up “a vial that could contain anthrax”, in his words (Weisman 2005), all to strengthen the US interventionist narrative. Because gaining support for additional UN authorization failed, a so-called “coalition of the willing”, led by the US and including the UK and small contingents from Australia, Poland, and Denmark, launched an invasion on March 20, 2003. On that day, at 5:34 am (local time) the military invasion of Iraq, known under the code name ‘Operation Iraqi Freedom’, began. There was no formal war declaration. The US-led “coalition of the willing” included approximately forty countries that participated by providing Special Forces, troops, equipment, services, security. According to General Tommy Franks, who was in charge of the invasion, the objectives of the invasion were: First, to end the regime of Saddam Hussein. Second, to identify, isolate and eliminate Iraq’s weapons of mass destruction. Third, to search for, to capture and to drive out terrorists from that country. Fourth, to collect such intelligence as we can related to terrorist networks. Fifth, to collect such intelligence

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 297 as we can related to the global network of illicit weapons of mass destruction. Sixth, to end sanctions and to immediately deliver humanitarian support to the displaced and to many needy Iraqi citizens. Seventh, to secure Iraq’s oil resources, which belong to the Iraqi people. And last, to help the Iraqi people create conditions for a transition to a representative self-government (Sale and Kahn 2003). By the 1st of May 2003, the major combat operations had been concluded and Iraq was largely under control of the US-led coalition, as massive air strikes destroyed Iraqi command and control facilities and prevented effective resistance of the Iraqi forces. Kurdish rebels joined the coalition forces against the Iraqi army, securing the northern part of the country. The occupation of Baghdad was finished on April 9, 2003, forcing Hussein and his government to go into hiding. Saddam Hussein himself was captured on December 13, 2003, by the US Army (Lewis 2003). An end to all combat operations was declared on May 1, as the occupation of Iraq was completed – and the period of the military occupation began.

4. Discourse after the Invasion

The arguments for war made to the rest of the world through months of negotiations at the UN and through diplomacy, before and after the dispatch to Iraq of a greatly strengthened WMD inspection team, built on the conspiracy dispositive, effectively securitizing the policy towards Iraq. The basis for international action is stated in UN Security Council Resolution 1441, paragraph 2, as “bringing to full and verified completion the disarmament process”. Powell’s detailed description to the Security Council on February 5, 2003, confirmed what had been argued before: the issue was the threat from Iraq’s possession of WMD. All other matters were at most, a minor afterthought. And Powell’s speech had an enormous performative effect, not just on the members of the Security Council, but also on the larger audience: the US citizens and the international community. Because the WMD threat was publicly presented as the reason for invading Iraq, the large divergence between prewar descriptions of the threat and what had been discovered in the nine months since the war was a matter of some consequence. The discrepancies raised questions whose answers led to the first notions of “conspiracy thinking” on the part of the Bush administration. At the same time, these discrepancies were countered by Rumsfeld’s analysis of the “unknown unknowns”, arguing that even though nothing concrete had yet been found, this could also mean the evidence was hidden even better than expected, or had quickly been replaced by the Hussein regime. After the invasion, the discourse took an unexpected turn when a counter- narrative took shape. While the Bush administration, backed by the neocon-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 298 servatives, had built and expanded their conspiracy dispositive over the last years, leading up to the invasion of Iraq in 2003, after the invasion the building blocks of the conspiracy narrative were evaluated one by one and many of them were judged to be invalid. Thus, even though the conspiracy dispositive had been stretched to declare a global war on terror, demanding that the whole world take a side, after the invasion the dispositive reached its limits and bounced back towards the point where instead of Hussein, Bush became the villain. Not Hussein had been conspiring to hide WMD, but Bush and his administration became the target, being accused of willfully conspiring to start a war in Iraq to further US interests. Already in 2003, criticism of the invasion of Iraq was voiced in several large newspapers in the US and Europe. Christopher Dickey wrote in an article for Newsweek how both Bush and Rumsfeld admitted that information to substan- tiate this popular fantasy just did not exist. “We’ve had no evidence that Sad- dam Hussein was involved with September 11”, Bush had said in an interview, almost matter-of-factly, on Wednesday September 17 (Dickey 2003). Former Bush treasury secretary Paul O’Neill said that “contingency planning” for an attack on Iraq had been planned since Bush’s inauguration and that the first National Security Council meeting involved discussion of an invasion (CNN 2004). “From the start, we were building the case against Hussein and looking at how we could take him out and change Iraq into a new country”. In 2004, a book written by Ron Suskind was published, claiming that the Bush administration deliberately concealed the fact that it knew Saddam did not have an active WMD arsenal in February 2003, a month before the invasion of Iraq was launched. The most controversial claim in the book was that the White House directed the CIA to fabricate a letter from an Iraqi intelligence official linking Hussein to the September 11 attacks. Suskind’s claim rested on several interviews, including interviews with three former intelligence officials. However, after the publication of The Way of the World, not a single official surfaced to back up his allegations – including the people he claimed to have interviewed for the book. It met mixed critical reviews but inspired considerable media attention and controversy. The White House denied the allegations, saying: “The notion that the White House directed anyone to forge a letter from the head of Iraqi Intelligence, General Tahir Jalil Habbush al-Tikriti to Saddam Hussein is absurd” (Al Jazeera 2008). The former director of the CIA, Philip Giraldi, stated that “there was no such order from the White House to me nor, to the best of my knowledge, was anyone from CIA ever involved in any such effort”, adding: “The notion that I would suddenly reverse our stance and have created and planted false evidence that was contrary to our own beliefs is ridiculous” (Blackledge 2008). Here, the first signs of the concept of “false evidence” surrounding the WMD conspiracy dispositive surface, placing the WMD dispositive on the defensive. The fact that former CIA officials discussed the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 299 accusations only underlined the importance of the discussion, linking the Bush dispositive to notions of fraud and deception. Some intelligence officials accused the Bush Administration of “cherry- picking” intelligence on Iraq to justify a decision it had already reached to go to war, and of ignoring warnings that the country could easily fall into violence and chaos after an invasion to overthrow Saddam Hussein (Pincus 2006). In 2006, a declassified report following a two-year investigation into detain- ee abuse was released by the Senate Armed Services Committee. In the report, a former US Army psychiatrist told the investigators that interrogators at the Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, detention facility were under “pressure” to produce evidence of ties between al Qaeda and Iraq. “While we were there a large part of the time we were focused on trying to establish a link between al Qaeda and Iraq but we were not successful”, Burney told the Committee. “The more frustrated people got in not being able to establish that link […] there was more and more pressure to resort to measures that might produce more immediate results”. The Committee Chairman called Burney’s statement “very significant”, especially in the light of Cheney’s earlier assertions that a senior Iraqi intelligence officer had met Mohammad Atta, the leader of the 9/11 hijackers, in the Czech Republic capital of Prague just months before the attacks on the World Trade Center and the Pentagon. The FBI and CIA found that no such meeting had occurred. He concluded: “I think it’s obvious that the Bush administration was scrambling then to try to find a connection, a link (between al Qaeda and Iraq). They made out links where they didn’t exist” (Landay 2009). Despite widespread feelings that the Bush administration had been searching for a reason to invade Iraq, regardless of the presence of WMD, doubts in the debate on either position were also voiced. A former CIA director stated that “as of yet, there is no evidence of explicit state sponsorship of the September 11 attacks. But absence of evidence is not evidence of absence” (Woolsey 2001). All in all, several counter-narratives to the WMD dispositive appeared, either accusing Bush and his administration of naivety or stupidity, or of cherry- picked intelligence (and thus portraying a professional bias towards invading Iraq), or the most serious narrative: that the Bush administration had conspired to invade Iraq to secure its own oil interests. Bush sought to distance himself in March 2006 from the allegation of any link. In a speech in Cleveland he said: “First, just if I might correct a misper- ception, I don’t think we ever said – at least I know I didn’t say that there was a direct connection between September the 11th and Saddam Hussein” (White House Archives 2006-I). Bush reaffirmed the White House position in even stronger terms in a press conference on 21 August 2006. When asked what the connection was between Iraq and the September 11th attacks, Bush replied,

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 300 “Nothing. Nobody has ever suggested that the attacks of September the 11th were ordered by Iraq” (White House Archives 2006-II). Also in 2008, the Center for Public Integrity published a study that concluded that the Bush administration had issued false statements over a two-year period (Douglass 2008). It found that in speeches, briefings, interviews and other venues, Bush and other officials in the government stated unambiguously on at least 532 occasions that Iraq had weapons of mass or was trying to produce or obtain them, or had links to al Qaeda, or both. In an overview of the study it said: It is now beyond dispute that Iraq did not possess any weapons of mass destruction or have meaningful ties to al Qaeda. In short, the Bush administration led the nation to war on the basis of erroneous information that it methodi- cally propagated and that culminated in military action against Iraq on March 19, 2003. In December 2009, former British Prime Minister Tony Blair stated that he “would still have thought it right to remove Hussein” regardless of whether the country possessed weapons of mass destruction, or not. Through his statement, Blair created a post-hoc new narrative to justify the invasion: he replaced the WMD dispositive with a so-called “topple-the-dictator” narrative. However, Sir John Sawers, his foreign policy adviser in early 2001, told the Iraq Inquiry that the prime minister had not urged regime change at that stage: “I don’t recall a serious and considered challenge to the existing policy of containment” (Reyn- olds 2009). Blair’s statement further convinced those who did not believe the arguments about the presence of WMD that they were right all along to say that this was always about regime change – and that the Bush administration, together with Blair, had conspired to invade Iraq long before the invasion in 2003. Before the invasion, Bush and Blair had been advocating making the world a safer place, not regime change and freeing Iraq from its dictator. For- mer Secretary-General of the UN, Kofi Annan, was quoted in an interview saying “the war was illegal” and “not in conformity with the Security Council” (BBC News September 16, 2004). The counter-narrative of the conspiracy by the Bush administration become dominant, as shown in the visual and popular support for the Bush-conspiracy idea in Hollywood blockbuster movies. In 2010, The Hurt Locker, a film focusing on a team of bomb technicians who have to deal with the Iraq war’s modern IED warfare, won Oscars for best director and best picture. The same year, another movie situated in Iraq, The Green Zone, premiered in cinemas and was received as a warning against putting too much trust in governmental decision- making. When the director of the film, Paul Greengrass, explained his drive to make the film in an interview, he said: “I genuinely believed Blair”. These efforts showed how “the fictional Iraq has the potential to overshadow the reality”, as James Denselow concluded in The Guardian on March 12, 2010.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 301 Thus, the narrative unfolded, focusing on who had said what exactly when and why, creating two poles on the political stage opposing each other’s narrative. On the one side, people argued that the key players within the Bush administration had decided to go to war with Iraq long before and thus conspired against Hussein and the rest of the world by starting the narrative of the Weap- ons of Mass Destruction. On the other side, the argument was that it was necessary to invade Iraq because of the threat it posed to the rest of the world. The discussion about the many reasons for invading Iraq heated up in newspapers and on Internet forums. Some argued that the “real” reason for toppling Sad- dam Hussein’s regime was to eliminate the man who rewarded families of suicide bombers and posed an implacable threat to Israel. Others said that the “real” reason for attacking Iraq was to intimidate Syria and Iran. Or the “real” reason had to be found in the politics of the oil business; to secure America’s long-term supply of oil. Rumsfeld wrote in Known and Unknown, ‘Looking back on the weeks following 9/11’, some accounts suggest an administration that seemed to have a preordained response to the attacks. From my vantage point, however, quite the opposite was the case. It was a time of discovery – of seeking elusive, imperfect solutions for new problems that would not be solved quickly. There was no guide- book or road map for us to follow (Rumsfeld 2011, 352). Discussion on the true reasons behind the invasion of Iraq thus grew louder and louder, demanding the answer to the question: what is the real story behind the Iraq war? Was it oil? Power politics? Was it Freudian psychology, Bush Jr. trying to overcome his own father or to correct his father’s mistake? Or was it a coup by the neoconservatives in US politics? Many in the public held an opinion somewhere in between the two poles. A journalist for Newsweek wrote in September 2003: The problem is not really that the public was misinformed by the press before the war, or somehow denied the truth afterward. The problem is that Ameri- cans just can’t believe their eyes. They cannot fathom the combination of cyn- icism, naiveté, arrogance and ignorance that dragged us into this quagmire, and they’re in a deep state of denial about it (Dickey 2003). Altogether, some prominent members of the Bush administration, such as Rumsfeld, struggled to provide clarity but failed to do so, only leading to more questions about the rationale behind the Iraq war. Several counter-narratives were launched after the invasion, supported by popular books and movies, all reinforcing the idea that it had in fact been the Bush administration itself that had conspired to invade Iraq in the pursuit of its own interests.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 302 5. Conclusion

This article attempts to provide an overview and clarify the complex narrative and building of the conspiracy dispositive of Iraq’s alleged possession of weapons of mass destruction. It examined administration statements, intelligence reports (on the nuclear, biological and chemical capabilities of the Hus- sein regime) and the international discourse in the run-up to and aftermath of the Iraq invasion, tracing the creation and turning point of the conspiracy dispositive created by the Bush administration. The issue of the presence of WMD in Iraq falls into a bigger debate that can be characterized by three main concepts: the global war on terror, the axis of evil and global security. Bush himself announced already two months after the invasion that “The battle of Iraq is one victory in a war on terror that began on September the 11, 2001” (White House Official Press Release 2003). Thus, Iraq and WMD became an element in the larger narrative on the war on terror that Bush had declared in 2001. As mentioned before, within this war narrative, lines were drawn and stark contrasts sharpened between “those who are with us” and “those who are against us”. In this story, Iraq was on the wrong side, according to many already when Bush became president. He was the one who named Iraq as one of the three countries that posed “an axis of evil” in the world. The Bush administration, backed by the neoconservatives, constructed their WMD conspiracy narrative over time. It started by posing Hussein as the object of threat through his possession of WMD; Kuwait being the subject of the threat. Over time, both the object and the subject of threat were extended to incorporate Iraq posing a threat to US national security. And after 9/11, the threat was stretched to its limits through Bush’s speech declaring a global war on terror, between an “axis of evil” and the liberal, western way of living. Through this extension, the Bush administration justified the large-scale measures and intense response of the invasion of Iraq. Even though competing narratives existed (both within the US where a more moderate approach towards Iraq was voiced and in the EU, portraying a more UN-legalistic approach), the WMD conspiracy narrative dominated. However, in this narrative, the notion of “global security” and how it ties into the conspiracy dispositive of the Bush administration had not yet been analyzed. Concepts of global security and the military – and in the midst of that: what it means to be an American – are two magnetic poles that thrive on notions of security and conspiracy, mutually reinforcing each other. In the context of the invasion of Iraq in 2003, we traced the development of the narrative and institutional deployment of “global security” and “weapons of mass destruction” as the ultimate threat to this security. In this narrative, the rhetoric on the global war on terror exposes a two-fold insecurity: national security once again becomes more important than international security, and the idea that anyone possessing weapons capable of destruction on a large scale

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 303 poses a threat and has the ability to cause “terror” is actually reinforced through the narrative. This became especially clear through the concept of the so-called “unknown unknowns”, clothing the conspiracy dispositive in an irrefutable logic that can never be countered. The irony of the alleged conspiracy of Hussein to possess weapons of mass destruction, constructed by the neoconservatives and the Bush administration, is that it was stretched to such a large extent that after the invasion of Iraq, it turned on the narrators themselves and was quickly transformed into a counter- narrative in which the Bush administration itself became the Great Conspirator. Even though several counter-narratives were constructed and the motivations behind the Iraq war remained unclear, the prevailing idea was that President Bush and the Vulcans, his main circle of advisers on foreign policy, had themselves conspired against Hussein in pursuit of their own interests.

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Historical Social Research Historische Sozialforschung

Mixed Issue

Articles

No. 143 HSR Vol. 38 (2013) 1

On the Historical Roots of the Modern Welfare State: The Knappschaft Statistics of 1861 to 1920 as a Source for Quantitative Historical Social Research

∗ Tobias A. Jopp

Abstract: »Zu den historischen Wurzeln des modernen Wohlfahrtsstaates: Die Knappschaftsstatistiken der Jahre 1861 bis 1920 als Quelle quantitativer historischer Sozialforschung«. This article introduces the Knappschaft statistics as a basic source for quantitative data on a very important topic in historical social research, namely the rise of the welfare state. Scholars who seek to embark upon historical social research in that direction require both qualitative and quantitative data. Exploring data sources and making data available for general use thus is crucial to systematic research and scholarly discourse. For the period 1861 to 1920, the Knappschaft statistics document the operation of the various German Knappschaftsvereine as the carriers of miners’ occupational social insurance at the time. Data on the various Knappschaften are quite rich enabling us to use them as a “historical laboratory” not merely to study the welfare positions of and social relations in a particular societal class in a particular period, but to explore more general questions related to the roots of modern welfare states, their functioning, and the challenges they face. To stress this point, I combine the concise overview of the Knappschaft statistics with a straightforward application to the question of the consequences of aging in a pay-as- you-go pension system. Keywords: aging, Knappschaft, pension level, Prussia, social insurance, statistics, welfare state.

∗ Tobias A. Jopp, Universität Regensburg, Fakultät für Philosophie, Kunst-, Geschichts- und Gesellschaftswissenschaften, Lehrstuhl für Wirtschafts- und Sozialgeschichte, 93040 Re- gensburg, Germany; [email protected]. I would like to thank Arthur Haberlach and Mark Spoerer for their valuable comments on the draft version. This paper has to be considered part of the interdisciplinary research project Vergangenheit und Zukunft sozialer Sicherungssysteme am Beispiel der Bundesknapp- schaft und ihrer Nachfolger funded by the Leibniz-Gemeinschaft. The economic sub-project from which my research emerged was led by the Rheinisch-Westfälisches Institut für Wirtschaftsforschung Essen (Manuel Frondel) in cooperation with the universities of Ho- henheim (Jochen Streb) and Yale (Timothy W. Guinnane).

Scholars who seek to embark upon historical social research require both qualitative and quantitative data. Exploring data sources and making data available for general use thus is crucial to systematic research and scholarly discourse. In this regard, this article’s intention is to introduce the Knappschaft statistics as a basic, yet less known, source for quantitative data on a very important topic in historical social research, namely the rise of the welfare state and its basic challenges. Several statistics frameworks were systematically compiled between 1861 and 1920 to document the operation of the various German Knappschaftsver- eine (“KVs” in the following) as carriers of miners’ occupational social insurance. These miners’ relief societies trace their roots some 750 years back when they originally emerged as religious and charitable brotherhoods of the mediaeval miners of the Harz region and Erz Mountains (both in central Germany). Around the middle of the nineteenth century, KVs existed in many German states, where mining of coal or ore existed; among those states, Bavaria, Prus- sia and Saxony were the most important ones in terms of the number of operating KVs, as well as in terms of the number of covered miners. It was especially around this time that the KVs were re-defined as what might be called the earliest historical example of a social insurance scheme insuring participants against income losses due to invalidity (lasting incapacitation for work), survivorship, and sickness (temporary incapacitation for work). Conventional wisdom links up this kind of collective provision against fundamental life risks with Bismarckian worker insurance introduced between 1883 and 1889. In fact, the KVs had already been based on principles commonly associated with social insurance – mandatory contributions by employees and employers, joint self- government of both parties, and the existence of an implicit generational contract – before, and anticipated the major principles of Bismarck’s system (Tampke 1982). As we shall see below, data on the various KVs are quite rich enabling us to use the KVs as a “historical laboratory” not merely to study the welfare positions of and social relations in a particular societal class in a particular period, but to explore more general questions related to the roots of modern welfare states, their functioning, and the challenges they face. To stress this point, I combine the concise overview of the Knappschaft statistics with a straightforward application to the question of the consequences of aging in a pay-as-you- go pension system.1 Prussian, but also Bavarian KVs were financed that way. In combination with the fact that among the main benefits offered were pen-

1 For a discussion of the set of problems, exemplarily see Cutler et al. (1990), Schmähl (2001), and Börsch-Supan and Ludwig (2010).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 312 sions to invalids, widows and orphans, this is the necessary pre-condition for preparing an experience report out of history on that topic. Moreover, the KVs’ history shows that they clearly were subject to aging over time.2 This article mainly adds to two strongly interrelated fields of research: (i) the historical literature on the rise of the welfare state(s) and (ii) the historical literature especially on the long-term relationship between population aging and the financing of pension and health care programs. Recent as well as classic contributions to the former include, for example, Mommsen (1981), Hen- nock (1982, 1987, 1990, 2007), Lindert (1994), Eghigian (2000), Flora and Heidenheimer (2003), Gladstone (2008), Nijhof (2009), Companje et al. (2009), Ritter (2010), Reimat (2012), and Harris (2012). Making use of historical data, Cutler and Johnson (2004), in particular, test conflicting hypotheses on why the “social insurance state” emerged (such as the “Leviathan theory”, the “demographic heterogeneity theory”, or the “political legitimacy theory”). Studies regarding the latter strand of literature include, for example, Johnson (1984), Diebolt and Reimat (1997), Hardach (2003), Pearson (2003). Comple- mentary to the studies mentioned above, Guinnane (2011) and Galor (2012) provide recent insights into the “demographic transition” as the transition from high to low fertility and, respectively, low to high life expectancy. Due to the KVs’ nature as occupational and (kind of) mutual insurers, this article also links up with, for example, Hannah (1986), who investigates the emergence of occupational pensions in Britain, and the body of literature on mutual relief societies outside Germany (e.g., Beito 2000; Emery and Emery 1999; Murray 2006; Van der Linden 1996). The article proceeds as follows. Section 2 introduces the Knappschaft statistics covering the formative period of the German welfare state, 1861-1920. The prime focus lies on the statistics on Prussian KVs, but the ones on Bavarian and Saxon KVs are briefly touched as well. Section 3 outlines how part of the data may be applied to assess the KVs’ experience with aging memberships. Section 4 concludes the paper.

2 This article cannot give a comprehensive account of the KVs’ economic history in the second half of the nineteenth and the early twentieth century, and, in particular, not of the structure and style of KVs. A body of literature has recently emerged answering such principle questions as to “how did the KVs work?” or “what was the typical insurance contract like?” (Guinnane and Streb 2011; Guinnane, Jopp and Streb 2012; Jopp 2011a, 2011b, 2012). For more detailed information on the KVs, one may consult this literature.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 313 2. The Knappschaft Statistics – A Description

2.1 The Relatively Best-Documented Case: Prussian Knappschaften Basically, there are three reasons why we should focus on Prussian KVs in the first instance: To start with, the Prussian KVs were the first ones to be transformed into social insurance providers formally acting on behalf of the government. This happened during the Prussian mining reform of 1851-1865. All German states that committed themselves to the Prussian tradition of mining sector regulation imitated the Prussian General Mining Law of 1865, including the paragraphs on how to regulate KVs (e.g., Bavaria in 1869); there were only few states that committed themselves to the different regulatory tradition of the Kingdom of Saxony. Insofar, willingly or unwillingly, Prussia set the standard. Secondly, as of the middle of the nineteenth century, Prussia had emerged as the German core mining region with KVs located there accounting for around 90 percent of all German miners; this share remained stable over the whole period under consideration. Thirdly, the Prussian Knappschaft statistics show the comparatively highest degree of informational detail as measured by the number of different variables reported. The Prussian Knappschaft statistics, officially entitled the Statistik der Knappschaftsvereine des preussischen Staates, had been compiled and edited the first time in 1855 by Rudolf von Carnall, with permission of the Prussian Department of Mining, Metallurgy and Salines (Ministerial-Abtheilung für Berg-, Hütten- und Salinenwesen). He edited four further volumes (von Carnall 1854-1858). These, as well as all subsequent ones, were published as part of the Zeitschrift für das Berg-, Hütten- und Salinenwesen in dem preussischen Staate. Of those initial five volumes, only the first reports data on the individual KV-level for the year 1852, when the KVs were not yet reformed, but still subordinated under the so-called direction principle, which had once installed the mercantilist state’s bureaucracy as the sole authority running miners’ funds (Jopp 2012b, 44-5). From 1859 on, the Knappschaft statistics were compiled and edited by three administrative bodies, namely the Prussian Ministry of Trade, Commerce and Public Works (Ministerium für Handel, Gewerbe und öffentliche Arbeiten 1859-1878), the Prussian Ministry of Public Works (Minis- terium für öffentliche Arbeiten 1879-1889) as a spin-off of the former, and, respectively, the Prussian Ministry of Trade and Commerce (Ministerium für Handel und Gewerbe 1890-1922). Compiled were the business reports that KVs were obliged to prepare and forward to the administration. In fact, all volumes issued since 1862, when post-reform KV-level data were reported the first time, are employable for systematic quantitative research; each volume reports data on the preceding year.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 314 The appeal of the Prussian KV statistics basically stems from the fact that it explicitly reports data on many aspects of miners’ funds’ operations (such as membership composition and financing streams) on the KV-level, and not merely on the aggregate. To the best of my knowledge, comparably extensive statistical frameworks addressing, say, all the sickness relief and other relief funds that came into existence after 1845, when the Prussian Industrial Code (Gewerbeordnung) was enacted, or after 1854, when the Law on Industrial Provident funds (Gesetz betreffend die gewerblichen Unterstützungskassen) came into being, are not available. Structurally, we can order the data reported on the KV-level according to three main “reporting instruments”, namely a KV’s “profit and loss statement”, a KV’s “asset balance”, and a KV’s “membership balance”; the following three sub-sections will go through these instruments. Within each of these three problem areas data are ordered according to the spatial structure of KVs. In all, 103 different KVs operated in Prussia over the period 1861-1920. Each KV was located in one of five different so-called Oberbergamtsbezirke (mining administration regions), named after the cities, where the offices were: Bonn (comprising the Saar and Aachen coal-fields), Breslau (comprising the Upper and Lower Silesian coal-fields), Clausthal (comprising the Harz coal- and ore- fields), Dortmund (comprising the Ruhr coal-fields), and Halle (comprising part of the important Saxon coal- and ore-fields). These mining administration regions, of which we will find complements in Bavaria and Saxony, were the administrative fundament of Prussian mine regulation. They should not be confused with general governmental districts (Regierungsbezirke), though.

2.1.1 Profit and Loss Statement What I call the KVs’ “profit and loss statement” should, actually, not be regarded as a statement complying with formal accounting standards. Reported for each KV are revenue items on the one hand and expenditure items on the other. Table 1 provides an overview of those items. I encoded main revenue categories by “R1” to “R5” and main expenditure categories by “E1” to “E6”. Before taking a closer look at the respective items, some peculiarities should be addressed regarding the way data are presented in the statistics: Firstly, all monetary figures are denominated in Prussian thaler until 1874 and in mark thereafter. Secondly, until 1907, a couple of items were separately reported for two basic categories of membership, namely for the so-called “established” and “unestablished” miners (ständige and unständige Bergleute). Originally, this distinction, which not every KV knew, had been created to separate full-time workers (established) from part-time workers (unestablished); the former were equipped with more rights such as access to a more extensive benefit package (in terms of the sheer amount as well as the different sorts of benefits) or more voting rights. Since regulations prescribed compulsory membership, and thus

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 315 forced a KV into contracting with every miner who was employed in its respective insurance area, this distinction might have been some kind of risk policy instrument, but not an instrument to exclude miners from membership at all. This is because KVs usually specified that those who wanted to become an established miner were to meet certain criteria (e.g., be of age 20/25 to 40/45; be of moral integrity; be of good, certified health). Every miner who did not meet those criteria was classified unestablished. This distinction, claimed un- just by many a workers’ representative, was no longer retained after 1907. Thirdly, the same regulatory reform that abolished the opportunity of discrimination introduced an accounting separation, too. While, until 1907, KVs had been running a kind of compound insurance scheme, in which exactly one contribution payment was charged per miner for the whole package of invalidity, survivorship and health-related benefits, they were required to run their pension and sickness insurance sections as if they were two self-standing busi- nesses from then on. As a consequence, we find that starting in 1908 revenues, expenditures, assets and memberships were separately reported for the pension and the sickness insurance sections. Fourthly, and finally, there are obvious reporting inconsistencies. Some variables were not reported over the full observation period, or the degree of detail changed here and there. Along with each item, such as “contributions by employers”, some additional information is given in the table: on the hand, the run time of each variable (e.g., reported over the period 1861 to 1866, or “1861/66”) and, on the other hand, whether the respective item was only relevant, after 1907, for the pension insurance section or, respectively, for the sickness insurance section as indicated by a superscript “a” or “b”. If not indicated this way, the variable is reported for both sections. Now let us take a look at revenues and expenditures. KVs evidently relied on several income sources. First, and most importantly, there were social insurance contributions by miners and their employers (R1.1 to R1.7), usually charged as a fixed amount per capita (and, maybe, per class of seniority and income); if we explored the data in more depth, we would find that contributions usually accounted for 75 to 90 percent of a KV’s income. Furthermore, there were some sorts of fees to be paid (R2.1 to R2.4). One fee was linked with the act of joining a KV; a second was due as corrective measure in case of misbehavior; and a third was due if a miner married; his KV would then have processed administrative affairs. What I translate with “acknowledgement fees” (Anerkennungsgebühren) were a means for an insur- ant who faced an interruption of employment to keep up entitlements he had

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 316 already accumulated; in other words, paying those fees instead of regular contributions did not mean to earn incremental entitlements on top.3

Table 1: Schematic Profit and Loss Statement Revenues Expenditures (R1) Contributions (E1) Pension benefits (R1.1) By established miners (1861/88) (E1.1) Semi-invalidity (1861/88) (R1.2) By unestablished miners (1861/88) (E1.2) Full invalidity (1861/1920) (R1.3) By employers (1861/1920) (E1.3) Surviving widows (1861/1920) (R1.4) By miners on leave (1867/88) (E1.4) Surviving orphans (1861/1920) (E1.5) Widows’ compensation after remar- (R1.5) By sick miners (1867/88) a riage (1908/20) (R1.6) By miners (1889/1920) (E1.6) Miscellaneousa (1908/20) (R1.7) Arrearage, preceding year (1908/20) (E2) Health-related benefits (R2) Fees (E2.1) Physicians’ salary (1861/1920) (R2.1) Marriage fees (1861/66) (E2.2) Medical Treatment (1861/1920) (R2.2) Joining fees (1861/1920) (E2.3) Daily sick pay (1861/1907) (R2.3) Punishment fees (1861/1907) (E2.4) Sick pay if treated at homeb (1908/20) (E2.5) Sick pay if treated in hospital and (R2.4) Acknowledgement feesa (1908/20) dependants eligible for benefits existb (1908/20) (E2.6) Sick pay if treated in hospital and (R3) Capital income dependants eligible for benefits do not existb (1908/20) (E2.7) Payments to women in childbedb (R3.1) Interest (1861/1907) (1908/20) (R3.2) Interest on paper holdings (1908/20) (E2.8) Hospital treatmentb (1908/20) (R3.3) Interest on bank deposits (1908/20) (E3) Miscellaneous benefits (R3.4) Rent (1861/1907) (E3.1) Funeral pay (1861/1907) (R3.5) Net yield from own establishments (E3.2) Funeral pay (death of invalid, 1908/20) (1909/20) (E3.3) Funeral pay (death of dependant, (R4) Other revenue sources 1908/20) (R4.1) Miscellaneous (1861/1920) (E3.4) Extraordinary support (1861/1907) (R4.2) Deductions because of wage increases (E3.5) Education support (1861/1907) (1867/88) (R4.3) Extraordinary sales (1867/1907) (E3.6) Compensation of foreignersa (1908/20) (R4.4) Donations (1867/1907) (E4) Operating costs

(R4.5) Compensation payments by Reich b (E4.1) Administrative cost (1861/1920) insurance carriers and other KVs (1908/20) (E4.2) Miscellaneous costs (e.g., hospital (R5) Net deficit (1861/1920) construction (1861/1920) (E4.3) Arbitration court usea (1908/20) (E4.4) Maintenance of buildingsa (1908/20) (E4.5) Interest on debt (1909/20)

3 In my opinion, it is likely that “contributions by the ones on leave” (R1.4) were, in essence, such acknowledgement fees. Unfortunately, as can be seen, there is a reporting inconsisten- cy since either variable is not reported for the period 1889 to 1907.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 317 Table 1 continued… (E4.6) Taxes (1909/20) (E4.7) Medical examinations before joining

the KVa (1909/20) (E5) Refunds to other KVs (E5.1) Invalidity pensionsa (1908/20) (E5.2) Widow’s pensionsa (1908/20) (E5.3) Widows’ compensation after remar-

riagea (1908/20) (E6) Net surplus (1861/1920) Notes: Quantities measured by 31st December. A superscript “a” denotes items only relevant, after 1907, regarding the pension insurance section. A superscript “b” denotes items only relevant, after 1907, regarding the sickness insurance section. Sources: See text.

Additional income sources were interest on assets, rent, and earnings from own establishments, such as hospitals, or some rather irregular revenues such as donations and extraordinary sales of assets, e.g., a building (R.3.1 to R4.5).4 Of all these miscellaneous items, interest income was relatively most important. The expenditure side illustrates quite well the comprehensive benefit package the KVs offered. Some benefits, such as the three types of pensions for invalids and survivors (E1.1 to E1.4) as well as daily sick pay, basic healthcare costs, and funeral subsidies (E2.1 to E2.6, and E2.8 and E3.1 to E3.3), had to be provided by every KV; remaining benefits, such as “education support” for parents (mostly tuition fees) were voluntarily offered. Regarding pensions, some KVs distinguished for some time between semi- and full invalidity. While the former case went along with being still capable of working as a miner, albeit not in the same dangerous position as before, full invalidity meant to be incapable, from the perspective of the system, of working as a miner for the rest of one’s life; this, however, did not rule out the possibility of earning a wage in another sector of the economy, while receiving an invalidity pension from a KV. Beyond benefit expenditures, the statistics also informs about pure operational expenses. Until 1907, the statement was badly undifferentiated in that all sorts of cost were only reported as either administrative expenses – mainly labor costs – or the remainder – mainly maintenance of buildings. After the accounting reform, the statement became much more informative, especially with regard to the KVs’ pension insurance section. What is called “refunds to other KVs” (E5.1 to E5.3) emerged whenever a miner had changed his workplace and the KV that insured him, because the new workplace was situated in another KV area. However, there had to be a

4 Gathered under “miscellaneous revenues” (R4.1), were, for example, commissions or all items that were not consistently reported explicitly over the whole period (e.g., marriage fees after 1867, or punishment fees after 1908).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 318 bilateral contract between two KVs stating that the one KV would settle pension claims for the time the miner was part of its membership and the other would act accordingly.5 Finally, counting revenues against expenditures, KVs could have either realized a net surplus, which happened more frequently, or a net deficit (R5 and E6). Although KVs were not-for-profit organizations, they often charged more contributions than were necessary to settle claims. However, since this only became clear at the end of the year, ex post, reserves were in fact accumulated and ready to be used as a financial buffer in times of trouble.

2.1.2 Asset Balance Let us turn to the KVs’ asset balance as illustrated by Table 2. Analogous to what I have done above, I encoded items on the left-hand side – assets – with “A” and those on the right-hand side – liabilities – with “L”. KVs were definitely equipped with assets. A great many did actually not own buildings (A4) themselves, and often KVs did not even report movable assets (A5). But almost every KV in almost every year of operation reported monetary assets generated from net surpluses in past years.6 The single-most important productive investment was interest-bearing assets (A3).7 In comparison, the amount of cash holdings, bank deposits and miscellaneous assets (e.g., receivables) was rather low. There is an asset category – “reinsurance deposit” – that deserves special attention. Recall the regulatory reform of 1906 that led to the abolishment of the established/unestablished status and that prescribed the institutional separation of pension insurance from health insurance operations. The same reform also prescribed a modified pay-as-you-go method to be applied by all KVs, the so- called Rentenwertumlageverfahren (“present value pay-as-you-go scheme”, one might say, versus “current value pay-as-you-go scheme”). In essence, KVs were obliged to accumulate reserves so such that all pensions, granted from

5 Note that the bottom line among KVs was that a miner turning over to another KV lost his entitlements already accumulated. Actually, this was a problem of portability of entitlements, which was often solved bilaterally, but which was coherently addressed by regulations not before 1907. 6 At the beginning of each volume, it is reported which type of building a KV owned. For the years 1867 to 1907, the statistics reports the number of hospitals, schools (for the miners children), and administrative buildings. For the years 1908 to 1920, it reports the number of hospitals, infirmaries, pharmacies, schools, orphanages, and administrative buildings. 7 Unfortunately, the statistics do not report of which type they were. Though, according to Jüngst (1913, 266-9), we get to know that the larger KVs usually held a mix of mortgages, Prussian government bonds, German Reich bonds, municipal bonds, and other loans.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 319 1908 on, would be pre-funded to the amount of their expected duration (i.e., their present values) in the same year they were due the first time.8

Table 2: Schematic Asset Balance Assets Liabilities (A1) Capital assets (1861/66) (L1) Debt on immovable property (1867/1920) (A2) Cash holdings (1867/1920) (L2) Other debt (1867/1920) (A3) Interest bearing assets (1867/1920) (L3) Net debt (1867/1920) (A4) Immovable property (1867/1920) (A5) Movables (1867/1920) (A6) Miscellaneous assets (1861/1920) (A7) Bank deposits (1908/20) (A8) Reinsurance deposita (1908/20) (A9) Net assets (1861/1920) Notes: Quantities measured by 31st December. A superscript “a” denotes items only relevant, after 1907, regarding the pension insurance section. Sources: See text.

Formally, the KVs had two choices as how to deal with this requirement: First, raise contributions adequately and directly invest net surpluses in interest- bearing assets to pre-fund pension liabilities; or, second, to pay annual contributions to a reinsurance fund, created for this purpose, exactly to (half) the amount of the present value of all pensions granted in 1908 or later; the reinsurance organization would then have step by step transferred back to a KV the amount of pension payment annually required. In fact, both alternatives were economically nearly equivalent regarding the amount of contributions to be additionally charged. In the second case, though, KVs would not have invested on their own, but would have outsourced part of their investment decisions and asset management. So, in case a KV decided to join this reinsurance fund and had granted at least one pension in 1908, we find a reinsurance deposit reported.9

8 An example seems helpful here. Imagine a KV at the beginning of 1908 consisting of exactly three members, namely Friedrich, Wilhelm, and Otto. Assume Otto became invalid in 1907 and Wilhelm became invalid, and eligible for an invalidity pension, right at the beginning of 1908, while Friedrich would regularly work and contribute over that year. Further assume the KV expected Wilhelm to live for another 15 years, thus until the end of 1923, and Otto at least to survive 1908. According to the new regulations, the KV had to specify Friedrich’s contributions due in 1908 such that they would exactly cover current expenditures on Ot- to’s pension in 1908 (i.e., regardless of how long he might still live) and half of all expected expenditures on Wilhelm’s pension over the period 1908-1923 (i.e., the pension’s present value discounted to the beginning of 1908). Although this example does not include survivors, their pensions were to be pre-funded in the same fashion, albeit for their full amount. Only in the case that a miner had been a member in more than one KV was his pension to be prefunded in full as well. 9 Originally the reinsurance organization was named Knappschaftliche Rückversicherungsan- stalt a.G. Charlottenburg, but re-named Knappschaftlicher Rückversicherungsverband in

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 320 Finally, the liability statement is also rather undifferentiated. A KV might have run up mortgages on its immovable property (L1) or took out other loans (L2). However, the frequency of claiming liabilities was rather low, too.

2.1.3 Membership Balance All in all, the statement on membership composition occupies most of the space in the statistics.10 I think it is appropriate here to distinguish “membership stock quantities” (“MSQ”), as measured at a particular point in time (either the first of January, or the 31st of December), from “membership flow quantities” (“MFQ”), as measured by cumulating incidences over the whole year such as deaths by membership category. As with the KVs’ profit and loss statement and asset balance, documented membership information shows some inconsistencies. Table 3 displays membership information by four categories of stock quantities on the left-hand side – overall contributors, established contributors, unestablished contributors, and pensioners – and by seven flow quantities on the right-hand side – inflow of overall contributors, outflow of overall contributors, outflow of established contributors, outflow of unestablished contributors, inflow of pensioners, outflow of pensioners, and the number of claimed sick days. Reported, for example, are such stock quantities as the number of contributors (established, unestablished, and, consequently, overall) by subsector (MSQ 1.2, MSQ 2.2, and MSQ 3.2), enabling us to assess the production structure underlying each KV, or the number of established and, respectively, overall contributors by age-group (MSQ 1.3, MSQ 2.3, and MSQ 2.5), enabling us to derive the age structure of KVs. Together with age-related data on pensioners, such as age-group sizes (MSQ 4.6, MSQ 4.7, and MSQ 4.8) or information on the average pension duration and effective age at retirement (MSQ 4.15, MSQ 4.16, and MSQ 4.17), it is definitely possible to assess the KVs’ experience with aging. It is a bit uncomfortable, though, that age-group sizes were not reported consistently over time; note the changes of the age categories from 1888 to 1889 and from 1907 to 1908.

1916. It was also in that year that membership became compulsory for all Prussian KVs. The reinsurance organization was shut down in 1923 eventually, when the Reichsknappschaft was installed by merging all remaining German KVs into one national social insurance fund. 10 Not displayed in the following is the statement on personnel. Each KV was run by its own board consisting half and half of miners’ and employers’ representatives. Besides, the board was supported by a number of the so-called Elders, respectable people recruited from both the working membership and retirees, fulfilling honorary tasks such as controlling the sick or keeping membership lists up-to-date. Consequently, the statistics reports the number of board members and Elders, but also the number of KV physicians, orderlies, administrative staff, and an unspecified rest. Since 1908, we also get to know the number of pharmacists, and the administrative staff is differentiated from then on in clerks and actuaries.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 321 Table 3: Membership Information Membership stock quantities Membership flow quantities (MSQ1) Overall contributors (MFQ 1) Inflow of contributors (MSQ1.1) Number (1861/1920) (MFQ 1.1) Established ones (1861/1907) (MSQ1.2) Number by subsector (1908/20; hard coal, brown coal, iron ore, miscellaneous ores, halite, stones, steelworks, zinc/ lead/ copper/ (MFQ 1.2) Unestablished ones (1861/88) silver ore processing, alum and vitriol processing, tar and paraffin processing, salines) (MSQ1.3) Number by nine age-groups (1908/20; (MFQ 1.3) Overall contributorsa (1861/1920; under 20, 21-25, 26-30, 31-35, 36-40, 41-50, thereof acknowledgement fee payers over 51-60, 61-70, 71 and older) 1908/20) (MSQ 1.4) Number of acknowledgement fee b a (MFQ 1.4) Sick members (1861/1920; due to payers (1908/20; thereof participants in war accident and due to other reason) over 1914/19) (MSQ 1.5) Number of participants in war (MFQ 2) Outflow of contributors (1914/19) (MFQ 2.1) Because of having become eligible (MSQ 1.6) Number of sick membersb (1908/20) for invaliditya (1908/20; thereof due to work accident and, for 1914/19, due to war) MFQ 2.2) Overall deathsa (1908/20; thereof (MSQ 2) Established contributors due to work accident and, for 1914/19, due to war) (MFQ 2.3) Outflows for other reasonsa (MSQ 2.1) Overall number (1861/1907) (1908/20) (MSQ 2.2) Number by subsector (1861/1907; hard coal, brown coal, iron ore, miscellaneous (MFQ 2.4) Outflow of acknowledgement fee ores, halite, stones, steel-works, zinc/ lead/ payersa (1908/20; eligible for invalidity, death, copper/ silver ore processing, alum and vitriol other reasons) processing, tar and paraffin processing, salines) (MSQ 2.3) Number by six age-groups (1867/88; (MFQ 2.5) Outflow of sick membersb under 16, 16-25, 26-35, 36-45, 46-55, 56 and (1861/1920; due to death, due to recovery, older) and due to other reason (MSQ 2.4) Number of suspended members (MFQ 3) Outflow of established contributors (1889/1907) (MSQ 2.5) Number by ten age-groups (1889/1907; under 16, 16-20, 21-25, 26-30, 31- (MFQ 3.1) Eligible for invalidity (1861/1907) 35, 36-40, 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56 and older) (MFQ 3.2) Discharges from membership (MSQ 2.6) Number of sick members (1861/1907) (1861/1907) (MFQ 3.3) Deaths (1861/1907; thereof by (MSQ 3) Unestablished contributors work accident) (MFQ 3.4) Deaths by six age-group (1867/88; (MSQ 3.1) Number (1861/1907) under 16, 16-25, 26-35, 36-45, 46-55, 56 and older) (MSQ 3.2) Number by subsector (1861/1907; (MFQ 3.5) Deaths by ten age-groupsa hard coal, brown coal, iron ore, miscellaneous (1889/1920; under 16, 16-20, 21-25, 26-30, ores, halite, stones, steel-works, zinc/ lead/ 31-35, 36-40, 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56 and copper/ silver ore processing, alum and vitriol older) processing, tar and paraffin processing, salines) (MFQ 4) Outflow of unestablished contribu- (MSQ 3.3) Number of sick members (1861/1907) tors

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 322 Table 3 continued… (MFQ 4.1) Discharges from membership (MSQ 4) Pensioners (1861/88) (MSQ 4.1) Number of invalids (1861/1907; for (MFQ 4.2) Eligible for invalidity (1861/1907) both full- and semi-invalids) (MSQ 4.2) Number of overall invalidsa (1908/20; (MFQ 4.3) Deaths (1861/1907; thereof by thereof invalid due to work accident and, for work accident) 1914-1919, due to war) (MSQ 4.3) Number of widowsa (1861/1920) (MFQ 5) New applications to pensioner status a (MFQ 5.1) Invalids from established member- (MSQ 4.4) Number of orphans (1861/19020; for ship (1861/1907; for both full- and semi- both fatherless and mother- and father-less) invalidity) (MSQ 4.5) Average age at becoming eligible for (MFQ 5.2) Invalids from unestablished mem- invaliditya (1861/1920; for both full- and semi- bership (1861/1907; for both full and semi- invalidity) invalidity) (MSQ 4.6) Number of invalids by nine age- groupsa (1867/1920; under 30, 31-35, 36-40, (MFQ 5.3) Invalids due to accident (1908/20) 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61-65, 66 and and, for 1914/19, due to wara older; for both full- and semi-invalids) (MSQ 4.7) Number of widows by ten age-groups a (MFQ 5.4) Widows (1861/1920; for 1914/19, (1867/1907; under 20, 21-25, 26-30, 31-35, 36- due to war) 40, 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61 and older) (MSQ 4.8) Number of widows by nine age- (MFQ 5.5) Orphansa (1861/1920; for both groupsa (1908/20; under 26, 26-30, 31-35, 36- fatherless and mother- and fatherless; for 40, 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61 and older) 1914/19, due to war) (MFQ 5.6) Invalids by nine age-groupsa (MSQ 4.9) Orphans receiving education support (1868/1920; under 30, 31-35, 36-40, 41-45, (1867/1907) 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61-65, 66 and older; for both full- and semi-invalids) (MSQ 4.10) Invalids receiving an accident (MFQ 5.7) Widows by ten age-groupsa pension from the Knappschafts- (1867/1920; (under 20, 21-25, 26-30, 31-35, Berufsgenossenschaft (1889/1907; for both full- 36-40, 41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61 and and semi-invalids) older) (MSQ 4.11) Widows receiving an accident pension from the Knappschafts- (MFQ 6) Outflows of pensioners Berufsgenossenschaft (1899/1907) (MSQ 4.12) Orphans receiving an accident pension from the Knappschafts- Berufsgenos- (MFQ 6.1) Deaths of orphans (1861/66) senschaft (1889/1907) (MSQ 4.13) Average length of service at the (MFQ 6.2) Discharges of orphans because of time of becoming eligible for invaliditya having reached the age of fourteena (1900/20; for both full- and semi-invalidity) (1861/66; 1908/20) (MFQ 6.3) Deaths of invalidsa (1861/1907: for (MSQ 4.14) Average length of service among both full- and semi-invalidity; 1908/20: due inflowing widows’ husbandsa (1900/20) to accident, and, for 1914/19, due to war) (MSQ 4.15) Average pension duration among (MFQ 6.4) Outflow of invalids for other those invalids that died over the course of the reasons (1861/1907; for both full- and semi- yeara (1900/20; for both full- and semi- invalidity) invalidity) (MSQ 4.16) Average pension duration among (MFQ 6.5) Invalids re-integrated into working those widows that died over the course of the a a membership (1908/20) year (1900/20)

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 323 Table 3 continued… (MSQ 4.17) Average biological age among (MFQ 6.6) Deaths of widowsa (1861/1920; for inflowing invalidsa (1868/1920) 1914/19, due to war) (MSQ 4.18) Average biological age among re- (MFQ 6.7) Outflow of widows because of integrated invalidsa (1908/20) remarriagea (1861/1920) (MSQ 4.19) Average pension duration among (MFQ 6.8) Outflow of widows due to other re-integrated invalidsa (1908/20) reasona (1908/20) (MSQ 4.20) Average biological age among the a (MFQ 6.9) Outflows of Orphans (1861/1907) stock of widows (1908/20) (MSQ 4.21) Average biological age among a (MFQ 6.10) Deaths of orphans (1908/20) inflowing widowsa (1908/20) (MFQ 6.11) Deaths of invalids by nine age- groupsa (1867/1907; under 30, 30-35, 36-40,

41-45, 46-50, 51-55, 56-60, 61-65, 66 and older; for both full- and semi-invalidity) (MFQ 7) Claimed sick days (MFQ 7.1) Number of sick days established miners took off (1861/1907; reimbursed with sick pay or physician’s cost only) (MFQ 7.2) Number of sick days unestablished miners took off (1861/1907; reimbursed with sick pay or physician’s cost only) (MFQ 7.3) Through sick pay while staying at b home (1908/20) (MFQ 7.4) Through sick pay while cured at

hospitalb (1908/20) (MFQ 7.5) Without sick pay while cured at

hospitalb (1908/20) Notes: Overall numbers of contributors and pensioners are reported by January 1st and De- cember 31st. All other stock quantities measured by 31st December. Regarding both established and unestablished working members, the statistics made, until 1889, a distinction between fully contributing members and those who were suspended. A superscript “a” denotes items only relevant, after 1907, regarding the pension insurance section. A superscript “b” denotes items only relevant, after 1907, regarding the sickness insurance section. After 1908, the KV statistics reports working members as well as invalids by sex. Sources: See text.

As the number of reported variables shows, the degree of detail of the statement on flow quantities is even higher. For example, the statistics generally specify outflows of working members as caused (i) by death – and whether death was caused by accident or disease (and, for the period 1914-1919, by participation in war) –, (ii) by having become eligible for an invalidity pension, or (iii) by another reason; actually, the latter “catch-the-rest” category mainly accounted for those contributors that left their KV to join another one, or to quit the mining sector forever. Outflows of invalids were caused by death, of course, or by re-integration into working membership; the frequency of re- integrations was, however, very low. Besides death, widows would also have

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 324 quit membership if they re-married. Finally, orphans were supported with a pension until the age of fourteen.11 Taking into account that some KVs survived over the full period of 1861- 1920, but others ceased operation sometime in between or came into operation only sometime after 1861, there are 4,450 “KV years” to be observed overall.

2.2 Other Important Statistics: Bavaria and Saxony Bureaucracies in Bavaria and Saxony were also engaged in compiling data on the KVs there. First, there is the Bavarian KV statistics, or Statistik der Knappschaftsvereine im bayerischen Staate, which is to the best of my knowledge only available from 1871 on (Oberbergamt München 1871-1921). Thus, it was started to be issued two years after the Bavarian mining reform. All in all, the Bavarian KV statistics document the operation of all the 56 different KVs that operated in the period 1871-1920 in a way quite similar to what Prussians did. KVs may be ordered by certain mining administration regions (Berginspektionsbezirke in this case) as well, namely Bayreuth, Mu- nich, Regensburg (the latter dissolved in 1882), and Zweibrücken. In fact, complementing a data set on Prussian KVs with information on Bavarian ones would add additional 1,639 observable KV years per variable. Finally, the Saxon KV statistics was published as part of the Jahrbuch für den Berg- und Hütten-Mann (Königliches Finanzministerium Sachsen 1870- 1872) or, respectively, the Jahrbuch für das Berg- und Hüttenwesen im König- reiche Sachsen (Königliches Finanzministerium Sachsen 1873-1921). The 1870 volume actually reports data on the year 1868 when the Saxons conducted their own mining reform including a reform of KV regulations.12 In all, 93 different KVs were in operation over the full period 1868-1920 or, at least, for some years or decades yielding 1,097 observable KV years.13 In contrast to Prussian and Bavarian KV regulation, Saxony strictly separated into pension funds and sickness societies. From the perspective of the Saxon KV statistics, a KV was a fund that insured against invalidity and survivorship. Consequently, societies insuring miners against sickness were not counted as a Knappschaft. Beyond that, Saxon KVs were strictly separated by product (hard coal, brown coal, and ores).14

11 Note that provision for surviving dependants became part of Bismarckian worker insurance not before 1911. 12 It is possible to obtain some data on Saxon KVs for several decades prior to 1868. The degree of informational detail, however, increased notably with the first post-reform volume. 13 This rather low number of observable KV years is due to the fact that all but two KVs were merged into one large pension fund in 1890, the Allgemeine Knappschafts-Pensionskasse Sachsen. 14 Bavarians and Prussians did not know such a distinction by rights.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 325 3. Application: The Knappschaften’s Aging Memberships

3.1 Historical Evidence on Aging As the preceding survey has shown, a lot of information that may be used to reconstruct the KVs’ social insurance operations in a quite informative way and to generalize on issues related to the welfare state is provided. Now I make use of part of the data on Prussian KVs to provide some historical evidence on a hitherto much debated question in the economics: How does population aging affect the finances of pay-as-you-go financed old-age programs? The least that an economic historian, as I am one, can contribute to answer this question is to “point a spotlight” at our past experience and to trace if people, say, in the late nineteenth century, already saw themselves confronted with problems of which one may think that they are something very special to today’s advanced, ma- tured welfare states. Provided people already felt so a hundred or more years ago, how did they cope with the challenges that they perceived were emerging? The KVs, and the contemporary observers discussing their affairs, already saw themselves confronted with a challenge very similar, in the end, to one modern pay-as-you-go social insurance has been dealing with: increasingly more old, retired people have become economically dependent on the transfers financed by a relatively shrinking working population – a population, though, that might have produced with constantly rising productivity. Yet, at first glance, there is a big difference between the way KVs operated and the way modern old-age programs do: KVs did not explicitly insure old- age. Theirs was to insurance against invalidity, which could have occurred at any a miner’s age, but for which a KV nonetheless paid until the invalid’s death (and beyond, as the existence of survivors’ benefits show). In fact, the mental concept of a retirement phase naturally following working life after passing the age of 60 or 65 had not yet made its way in the nineteenth and early twentieth century (Conrad 1994, 12; Göckenjan and Hansen 1993, 731). Actu- ally, to bring in KVs as a “historical laboratory” requires emphasizing the social dimension of population aging over the pure biological dimension.15 The old-age dependency ratio, a measure often applied in aging-related investigations, reflects this dual view pretty well. For, on the one hand, it relates the number of people below an assumed threshold age of 60 or 65 to people above that age and, on the other hand, it relates the number of working people to the number of retired people, thereby implicitly highlighting the redistributive relationship between both parties.

15 The distinction into “biological” and “social” ageing has been advocated by, for example, Bourdieu and Kesztenbaum (2007), 185.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 326 Fortunately, we can construct four simple measures from the KV statistics that are quite similar to the old-age dependency ratio, namely the invalids-to- contributors ratio (ICR), the survivors-to-contributors ratio (SCR), and both ratios’ respective reciprocals, the invalids-support ratio (ISR) and the survivors-support ratio (SSR). Let us begin with the former two ratios. Table 4 reports both measures as median values over the N KVs that were operating over the respective periods. I split the universe of Prussian KVs into two samples, namely “stagnant” and “dynamic” ones. A KV was ascribed to the former sample if it showed a stag- nating, or shrinking, contributor base over the period 1861-1920 (i.e., an average geometric growth rate of working membership < 0); it was ascribed to the latter if its contributor base grew positively in the long-term (i.e., by an average geometric growth rate > 0). The reason as to why this distinction makes sense is the following: Due to the fact that a KV was either responsible for miners of a particular mining company or, instead, for a particular insurance area (quite similar to territorial monopolies), expansion of the working, and contributing, membership was limited by the growth opportunities that the particular mining company, or the companies in the KV’s area, faced. If mining had thrived and local resource deposits had still been rich, labor input would have been increased, and so would have had a KV’s working membership; in contrast, if mining had stagnated, because local resource deposits were nearly exhausted (either technically or economically), labor input would have stagnated, and so would have had a KV’s working membership. So, while stagnation of mining activities would have certainly resulted in increasing economic dependency of ever more pensioners on ever fewer contributors, KVs in prospering areas, and with expanding working memberships, might not have felt rising pressure on finances at all. We have to control for this effect. Yet, as we can infer from Table 4, not only did stagnant KVs experience a rising ICR and a rising SCR, but also did dynamic ones, though not to the same extent. For example, stagnant KVs’ median burden with invalidity pensioners in the period 1861/1865 was 0.02 invalids per contributor (or, when multiplied with one hundred, two invalids per 100 contributors). As of around 1913, the median burden had increased to 0.19 invalids per contributor (or 19 per 100). Dynamic KVs obviously faced a slower rising burden with pensioners, but long-term expansion of working membership was, in itself, no guarantee for not experiencing aging. As the standard deviation shows, there was a considerable range of burdens with pensioners to be observed. One might wonder how, say, the median burden displayed in Table 4 compares to that of systems of the second half of the twentieth century. For German pension insurance, for example, we can calculate that there were 39 pensioners per 100 contributors in 1993 and 46 in 2006 (Deutsche Rentenversicherung Bund 2008, 14, 169). So, sum- ming over the ICR and SCR, stagnant KVs partly exceeded those levels, and dynamic KVs were, at least, on the way to arrive at such levels.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 327 Table 4: Rising Economic Dependency in the Knappschaften Period Stagnant Knappschaften Dynamic Knappschaften N ICR SCR N ICR SCR 1861/1865 28 0.02 (0.07) 0.08 (0.15) 49 0.03 (0.04) 0.12 (0.14) 1866/1870 36 0.03 (0.13) 0.13 (0.19) 57 0.03 (0.06) 0.15 (0.13) 1871/1875 34 0.04 (0.22) 0.17 (0.31) 61 0.04 (0.03) 0.16 (0.12) 1876/1880 29 0.07 (0.29) 0.23 (0.44) 56 0.05 (0.04) 0.19 (0.12) 1881/1885 28 0.08 (0.20) 0.25 (0.49) 55 0.05 (0.04) 0.19 (0.11) 1886/1890 26 0.08 (0.18) 0.28 (0.26) 51 0.06 (0.04) 0.17 (0.11) 1891/1895 25 0.12 (0.14) 0.30 (0.27) 48 0.06 (0.08) 0.17 (0.16) 1896/1900 25 0.16 (0.14) 0.35 (0.33) 48 0.07 (0.08) 0.16 (0.15) 1901/1905 25 0.14 (0.13) 0.32 (0.50) 48 0.07 (0.06) 0.16 (0.08) 1906/1910 25 0.15 (0.20) 0.35 (0.80) 47 0.09 (0.05) 0.17 (0.09) 1911/1915 22 0.19 (0.12) 0.32 (0.25) 44 0.10 (0.09) 0.18 (0.14) 1916/1920 17 0.19 (0.14) 0.29 (0.22) 39 0.09 (0.06) 0.25 (0.11) Notes: Displayed per period are the rounded median of average scores and the standard deviation (in brackets); see text for abbreviations. Sources: See text.

Figure 1: The “Inverse” Picture – Pensioner Support Ratios

ISR stagnant 40 ISR dynamic 35 SSR stagnant 30 SSR dynamic 25

5 Contributors availableto finance one pensioner 0

Notes: Displayed per year is the respective median ratio; see text for abbreviations. Sources: See text.

We can put the process of rising economic dependency among the KVs in a yet even more illustrative way by asking the question the other way around: How many working miners were there, on average, to finance one retired miner? To answer this question we require information on the support ratio, which is simply equal to the inverse of the ICR (or SCR). Graph 1 plots these inverse ratios, the median ISR and SSR. What we find is that the number of contributors ready to support one invalid, or one survivor, notably decreased at the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 328 median – regarding stagnant (dynamic) KVs, from 42 (28) contributors per one invalid in 1861 to less than five (12) in 1920 and from about 12 (7) contributors per one survivor to less than five (four). Now one might ask as to whether increases in the ICR/SCR, or decreases in the ISR/SSR, might have been compensated by increases in productivity and, thus, wages. In other words, would it generally constitute a serious problem at all seeing ever less contributors relative to pensioners? This seems to depend on whether pensions already granted were adjusted to growth, too. If so, as in Germany nowadays, we might doubt that steadily rising productivity is sufficient to solve the problem. However, nineteenth- and early twentieth-century KVs, as well as Bismarckian pension insurance, did not know (automatic) adjustments of pensions to (i) economic growth (of the mining sector or, respectively, of the whole economy) or (ii) price developments after pensions had factually become due. To answer this question in our particular case of static pensions, a simple exercise will do: We only need to compare the long- term growth of wages with the long-term growth rate of the ICR/SCR.16 Wages on mining (including salines) can be obtained from Hoffmann (1965, 461). Covering the years 1861 to 1913, his series yields a long-term growth rate of 2.04 percent (1.67 percent over 1867-1913). In contrast, the median ICR among stagnant (dynamic) KVs rose by 6.9 (2.3) percent in the long-term; the median SCR among stagnant (dynamic) KVs rose by 3.66 (0.32) percent. In fact, economic dependency increased faster than wages did.17 To end this subsection, I provide additional evidence on the biological dimension of the KVs’ aging memberships. Therefore I bring in three further measures, namely the “average age of invalids”, the “average invalidity pension duration”, and the “average age at retirement”. Table 5 contains the corresponding information. I concentrate on invalidity pensioners here since there were much more costly than survivors, although their number was usually lower. For each KV the average age of invalids has been calculated as the weighted average over age-groups (i.e., variables subsumed under item MSQ 4.6) assuming that all invalids in an age-group were exactly of mid-group age. Evidence suggests that the median average age increased in the long-term for both stagnant and dynamic KVs – from 59 to 65 in the former case and from 57 to 59 in the latter – indirectly pointing to a rise in life expectancy.

16 That KVs granted miners Otto and Wilhelm static pensions, which nominally remained unadjusted over their retirement period, should not be confused with their ability to raise Friedrich’s pension before it actually became due. 17 Throughout this article, the empirical extent of economic dependency among KVs has to be understood as net of countermeasures that would increase the contributor base relative to the amount of pensioners, e.g., sharpening eligibility rules over time, which would have reduced the share of accepted invalids in total applicants. Unfortunately, we cannot measure this effect on the basis of the statistics.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 329 Table 5: Measuring the “Biological Side” of Aging

Period Stagnant Knappschaften Dynamic Knappschaften Average Average Average age Average Average Average age age of invalidity at age of invalidity at invalids pension retirement invalids pension retirement duration duration 1867/1870 59 (9) - 53 (8) 57 (7) - 51 (8) 1871/1875 59 (6) - 56 (7) 56 (6) - 52 (8) 1876/1880 58 (6) - 53 (8) 56 (5) - 51 (7) 1881/1885 59 (6) - 54 (8) 56 (6) - 52 (7) 1886/1890 60 (6) - 54 (7) 57 (5) - 52 (8) 1891/1895 61 (6) - 55 (8) 58 (5) - 53 (7) 1896/1900 63 (5) - 55 (3) 58 (5) - 53 (7) 1901/1905 63 (5) 7.5 (4.9) 54 (8) 58 (4) 8.0 (4.9) 53 (7) 1906/1910 62 (5) 9.0 (6.1) 55 (7) 59 (4) 8.5 (3.5) 54 (6) 1911/1915 63 (4) 10.0 (6.3) 56 (8) 59 (4) 9.3 (3.8) 54 (6) 1916/1920 65 (4) 12.4 (5.0) 56 (7) 59 (4) 9.9 (4.0) 54 (6) Notes: Displayed per period is the rounded median of average scores and the standard deviation (in brackets). Sources: See text.

The second measure is directly obtainable from the KV statistics (MSQ 4.15) and informs us about for how many years an invalid who died over the course of year t had received his invalidity pension. Unfortunately, we only have the necessary data from 1900 onwards. For stagnant KVs, as for dynamic ones, the median average pension duration rose over the twenty years we can observe, by nearly five years and, respectively, two years. But do these increases really reflect rising life expectancy or do they simply reflect a decreasing effective retirement age? In order to answer this question we have to take a look at measure three, which is the median average age at retirement among all stagnant and, respectively, dynamic KVs. That the average pension duration became longer and longer could have appeared simply because miners became invalid earlier than before, for example, due to adverse incentives to retire earlier or due to the production environment. But, rather, data show that the average age at retirement increased over 1900-1920, which is a clear hint at rising life expectancy. There are two main explanations for this trend. First, technological progress made mining less perilous and lethally such that many miners who would once have died before they could be retired, actually came to see retirement; and, second, medical-technological progress, in particular, making treatment of those involved in accidents and of those suffering from diseases like the black lung more effective such that death was postponed.

3.2 Contribution Rates and Generosity under Pressure Recall that, faster in the period under observation, economic dependency grew than wages. Yet, one might ask as to whether KVs were able to compensate for

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 330 growth of wages lagging behind by cutting the amount of benefits receivable before they actually were granted. This question directly touches on the question of how the KVs reacted to increasing financial pressure. I will assess this question by making use of one crucial identity: In a pay-as-you-go pension system the contribution rate (CR) is equal to the product of the pensioners-to- contributors ratio and the pension level; the latter is the ratio of the average pension to the average wage in the population of insurants and, thus, deter- mines the system’s average income replacement standard. Having estimates of the ICR and SCR at hand, as well as of the replacement rate, the contribution rate follows as a residual. According to Disney (2004, 274), we might call this contribution rate more accurately the “equilibrium contribution rate”, because miscellaneous costs, miscellaneous revenues, and reserves are assumed to be zero. In comparison, we could estimate the contribution rate by referencing the observable amount of contributions paid per capita against wage, regardless of having estimates of the ICR, SCR and replacement rates at hand or not. The following exercise is built around the concept of equilibrium contribution rates. Let us begin with the KVs’ generosity. For the moment, is it sufficient to have a look at how generous KVs were at the start of their existence as insurers, thus in the cross-section of 1861. To obtain KV-level estimates of pension levels regarding invalidity, widows’ and orphans’ pensions, we need to divide the average pension (e.g., E1.2 / MSQ 4.1 and, respectively, E1.2 / MSQ 4.2), year by year, by the average wage in the mining sector.18 I again use Hoff- mann’s series on wages in the mining sector as well as his series on wages in metal production for those KVs that mainly insured metalworkers. Table 6 depicts generosity assessed this way. Obviously, KVs that would experience stagnation later on were much more generous, at the median, regarding provision for invalidity than were those that would prosper in the long-term. Possi- bly, stagnant KVs were simply too optimistic about their business prospects. A pension level, or replacement rate, of 28.5 percent was definitely not a bad deal for the time. Survivors’ pensions were naturally lower.

Table 6: Generosity in the Cross-Section of 1861 Median pension level stagnant KVs Median pension level dynamic KVs (N = 26) (N = 45) Invalids’ Widows’ Orphans’ Invalids’ Widows’ Orphans’ pensions pensions pensions pensions pensions pensions 28.5 % 9.0 % 4.1 % 18.7 % 9.4 % 3.2 % (11.7) (5.2) (2.8) (10.7) (5.8) (1.5) Notes: Standard deviation in brackets. Sources: See text.

18 According to Sprenger (1991, 187), one thaler (1861-1874) has been converted into three marks.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 331 Against the background of the basic identity mentioned above, the KVs could principally pursue three different strategies to adjust their finances. The first is not assessable with the available data, namely to either tighten eligibility criteria ruling whom invalidity status would be granted or soften eligibility criteria ruling which contributor would enter established membership and pay a contribution that would be higher than that among unestablished miners.19 The second and third ways, namely to adjust contributions upwards or generosity downwards, are indeed assessable. It seems reasonable to build a straightforward counterfactual scenario by asking how strongly the contribution rate, say, for the KV pressed with aging according to the median economic dependency scenario displayed in Table 4, would have had to rise if the pension level was to be hold constant over 1861-1913 at the 1861-levels.20

Graph 2: Counterfactual Equilibrium Pension Contribution Rates in the “Median Burden” Scenario

9 total pension CR stagnant 8 total pension CR dynamic 7 Invalids' pension CR stagnant 6 Invalids' pension CR dynamic 5

1 Counterfactual contribution rate in % in rate contribution Counterfactual

Notes: Pension levels hold constant at the level of 1861. Sources: See text.

Graph 2 visualizes how the median equilibrium contribution rates would have had to rise for stagnant and dynamic KVs to be able to provide an invalidity pension level of 28.5 and, respectively, 18.7 percent over the whole period. Stagnant KVs had started with an equilibrium contribution rate less than 0.18 percent, and dynamic ones with 0.5 percent. Whatever the starting conditions, KVs would have seen a contribution rate of around six and 1.8 percent in 1913,

19 Of course, softening criteria for achieving established status now meant to have to provide for more costly pensioners later. 20 I restrict the following exercise to the years 1861-1913, because there is a gap in Hoff- mann’s series until 1923.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 332 respectively, had they maintained equilibrium while holding generosity with regard to invalidity constant. The counterfactual “total pension contribution rate” accounting for survivors’ pensions, too, would have grown even faster, up to around eight and three percent, respectively. 21 The fact that a KV might have been on a positive growth trajectory definitely dampened the financial consequences of rising economic dependency.

Graph 3: Actual Equilibrium Pension Contribution Rates in the “Median Burden” Scenario

3,5

2,5

1,5

0,5

0 Counterfactualcontribution rate% in

total pension CR stagnant total pension CR dynamic Invalids' pension CR stagnant Invalids' pension CR dynamic

Notes: Pension levels no longer kept constant. Sources: See text.

The counterfactual as a first step is necessary in order to judge the time path of the actual equilibrium contribution rate adequately. Now the restriction of constant 1861 pension levels will be lifted. Graph 3 depicts actual equilibrium contribution rates inclusive of historical adjustments made via the generosity channel. As was to be expected, contribution rates did rise as a rule, but not as fast as they did in the counterfactual scenario. The difference between counterfactual contribution rates on the one hand and actual contribution rates on the other reflects the extent to which the welfare level was reduced in order to take financial pressure off workers. What is still to do is to quantify the level of generosity at which the KVs arrived. Blinding out the extraordinary years of war and undisguised inflation, Table 7 shows that the median invalidity pension level among stagnant KVs eventually declined by approximately two-thirds, to just less than 11 percent; the pension level with regard to survivors was similarly adjusted downwards.

21 Note that these contribution rates do not account for non-pension cost.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 333 Table 7: Generosity at the Onset of War (1911/13) Median pension level stagnant KVs Median pension level dynamic KVs (N = 22) (N = 44) Invalids’ Widows’ Orphans’ Invalids’ Widows’ Orphans’ pensions pensions pensions pensions pensions pensions 10.6 % 5.3 % 1.8 % 17.7 % 9.1 % 2.8 % (6.7) (2.6) (0.8) (9.3) (6.6) (1.6) Notes: Standard deviation in brackets. Sources: See text.

At first glance, it might look quite positive that dynamic KVs, due to the economic environment they were embedded in, seemingly managed to sustain the generosity levels at which they once had started. In reality, though, dynamic KVs were not really better off. Figuratively spoken, they all had, at some point in time, to backpedal quite considerably to a level of generosity that they perceived to be sustainable. Note that, as of the late 1880s, they already had arrived at median pension levels of about 25 percent, 11 percent, and 3.5 percent, respectively. This observation suggests that the advantage of steadily growing KVs over steadily shrinking funds in mastering the “aging challenge” was not that big after all.

4. Concluding Remarks

The KVs formed a small part of the many mutual relief societies operating in Germany in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Miners, who had access through their KVs to a comprehensive package of different kinds of benefits addressing quite different risks, seem to have been privileged compared to other industrial workers. They relied upon their own insurance system that would later co-exist with Reich insurance. What is more, the KVs are statistically quite well documented enabling us to reconstruct much of their historical experience and, thereby, to shed light on aging as a major challenge of the modern (Bismarckian-style) welfare state. Usually, rising life expectancy and aging are analytically assessed for an economy’s entire population, thus on the macro-level. Yet, there is also a micro-level on which these issues may be assessed; the KVs provide such a micro-level perspective. Their historical experience illuminates the fundamental tension in a maturing pay-as-you-go pension system between allowing retired members to benefit from a preferably high welfare level and burdening financi- ers at the same time with a still acceptable load of contributions. Against the background of this trade-off between the degree of generosity and the degree of revenue extraction, KVs sooner or later decided to cut generosity, which took off some pressure of the contribution rates, but which adversely affected insurants’ welfare position. Alone that the KVs had the possibility to make quite

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 334 strong use of lowering the pension levels, draws our attention to the still different situation today. Look at Germany, for example, where the (average) income replacement standard of old-age insurance still remains untouched. However, since the standard is based on political decisions, there is no true guarantee that it will remain untouched in the future. The empirical exercise is not meant to make a normative statement on whether maintaining a high average pension level is still acceptable or not. Rather it is intended to document the trade-off’s importance then and now.

References

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 338 The Living Arrangements of U.S. Teachers, 1860-1910

∗ Kitae Sohn

Abstract: »Die Lebensverhältnisse von US-amerikanischen Lehrerinnen und Lehrern, 1860-1910«. Most of the historical research on the daily lives of US teachers relies on qualitative sources such as diaries, letters, memoirs, and missionary reports. Using the US census data from 1860 to 1910, this paper attempts to go beyond sketching impressions of their daily lives, focusing instead on the living arrangements of teachers by region, gender, and race. The main result is that about 70 percent of teachers lived in a nuclear family and 15 percent of them lived with non-relatives; this is more or less true regardless of regions, genders, and races. In addition to descriptive analyses, a multinomial logit model is applied to provide a more systematic way of finding the determinants of the living arrangements and measuring the sizes of their effects. This paper demonstrates a possibility of deepening our understanding of the daily lives of teachers in the past by combining nationally representative data with topics of daily lives. Keywords: living arrangements, teachers, United States, postbellum.

1. Introduction

Education is a stream of structured intellectual dialogues between teachers and students. And yet, teachers have largely been ignored in the history of US education. Clifford (1975a, 262) describes this neglect as a “virtual invisibility of teachers,” and attempts to re-position teachers at the center of the history of education (Clifford 1975b). Since then, feminists have joined the research to provide a new perspective on the profession, largely because teaching has become feminized (e.g., Strober and Best 1979; Strober and Tyack 1980). However, most of the research on the history of teachers emphasizes occupational and demographic characteristics of teachers, failing to illuminate their daily lives. Among the many aspects of daily life, living arrangements are of importance because they can affect not only the decision to enter the profession but also day-to-day lives outside school, the extent of interactions with students, and the quality of instruction. For example, if a teacher boards in her student’s household, which was not uncommon in the nineteenth century, it is

∗ Kitae Sohn, Department of Economics, Kookmin University, Jeongneung-gil 77 Jeongneung- dong Seongbuk-gu, South Korea; [email protected].

Historical Social Research 38 (2013) 1, 339-365 Ň© GESIS inevitable to remain in constant contact with the student regardless of the teacher’s intention. Alternatively, if a teacher lives with strangers rather than acquaintances, tensions and uncomfortable feelings may adversely affect the quality of instruction. This research also provides us with insight into various aspects of teachers: who these teachers were, how permanent their careers were as teachers, whether they were able to support a family on their income, and whether these answers differed by region, gender, and race. In addition, a broader analysis of the living arrangements of teachers compared to other individuals with similar characteristics would help us understand whether teachers were different in some sense relative to their peers. Hence, the living arrangements do not concern just who lived with whom, but are also related to a variety of issues concerning teachers and teaching. At present, the absolute majority of teachers live in a nuclear family regardless of their marital status. For example, 94.1 percent of teachers lived in such a form in 2000.1 This was not the case in the past. Evidence of diverse forms of living arrangements is only scattered in qualitative sources such as diaries, letters, memoirs, and missionary reports. To make matters worse, most of the times, the living arrangements are not explicitly stated but have to be inferred from the contexts. More important, it is difficult to appreciate how typical their living arrangements were in relation to region, gender, and race. Even if evidence from qualitative sources accurately reflects reality, which is doubtful, the specific proportion of each form of living arrangements is still unknown; impressions abound, but numbers lack. Perlmann and Margo (1989, 70) raise the same issue and suggest using the US census to fill the gap in the literature. To the best of my knowledge, this paper is the first to follow this suggestion. By shedding light on the living arrangements of teachers by region, gender, and race, this paper provides background information for a broad understanding of the daily lives of teachers in the past. In addition, the background information can be used for subsequent research on related topics. The period of interest is between 1860 and 1910 because fundamental events in the history of education such as feminization and bureaucratization took place in this period. The census is one of the best sources for our purposes because the data are nationally representative, periodically long, and comparable over time. At the same time, this paper illustrates the possibility of greatly expanding our knowledge of the daily lives of teachers in the past beyond collecting impressions from qualitative sources.

1 The figure comes from the one percent unweighted 2000 sample. The sample is restricted to individuals who are teachers (n.e.c.) in the 1950 occupation code (OCC 1950), working in educational services in the 1950 industry code (IND 1950), not living in institutions, and participating in the labor force.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 340 This paper finds that, in general, about 70 percent of teachers lived in a nuclear family and 15 percent of them lived with non-relatives. Discussed in a descriptive manner are stability and change in the distribution of the living arrangements by region, gender, and race, and possible reasons for them. Whenever necessary, the living arrangements are explained in broad historical contexts. Beyond the descriptive analyses, a multinomial logit model is used to pinpoint the determinants of forms of living arrangements and to estimate the sizes of their effects; personal, household, and location characteristics are mainly discussed.

2. Literature Review

In the history of US education, only scanty attention has been paid to teachers. Coffman (1911) and Elsbree (1939) are the first to shed considerable light on the history of teachers, followed by Mattingly (1975) after long silence on the subject. They tried to explain historically how teaching became a profession, i.e., the lives of teachers at work, so they neglected the daily lives of teachers in general and the living arrangements of teachers in particular. Warren (1989) edits papers that are devoted exclusively to the history of teachers and teacher training, but as the subtitle of the book indicates, this book is also about teachers at work. More recently, Hoffman (2003) tries to deliver the voices of conspicuous teachers, but mostly about their working lives. The daily lives of teachers in history can be largely elucidated by qualitative materials such as diaries, letters, memoirs, and missionary reports. Kaufman (1984) uses diaries and letters to depict the daily as well as working lives of teachers who were sent west by the National Popular Education Board in the decade following 1846. Enss (2008) collects memoirs of some of the teachers who taught in the Old West in the nineteenth century. Although they partly succeed in describing the daily lives of teachers and their emotions, they fail to help one appreciate the living arrangements. In general, the living arrangements have to be guessed from the context. The following example illustrates the point: “The Carson Valley area where Eliza and her husband, Israel, settled in 1851 needed a place where children could learn the three R’s. In early 1852, the Motts offered their home as a temporary school; and, armed with a pair of McGuffey Readers, Eliza began teaching” (Enss 2008, 27). From the passage, one can infer that the teacher, Eliza Mott, lived with her husband. Besides the issue of guesswork, a more important issue is the selectivity of their samples; the gender of their samples is exclusively female, the race is exclusively white, and the geographical location is exclusively the West. Relying on missionary reports, Yohn (1995) makes similar efforts with different geographical locations: Southern Colorado and Northern New Mexico between 1867 and 1924. Her sample is also biased: it consists of white female

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 341 teachers in two Western areas. More problematic for this paper is that it is concerned more with the lives of natives perceived by teachers than the lives of teachers themselves. Guesswork of the living arrangements is all the more hazardous. An example is as follows: When Hyson began her work, she complained of limited resources, warning the Woman’s Executive Committee that the dirt floors and drafty conditions of her rooms would cause respiratory disease and other damage to her health and well-being. She was not generous in her assessment of the Hispano people with whom she lived and worked (Yohn 1995, 129). From the second sentence, one may guess that the teacher, Alice Hyson, boarded in a Hispano family. However, it is unclear whether “lived” in the sentence means living in a community or in a house; only in the latter case is boarding the correct guess. Weiler (1998) makes use of other materials aside from qualitative materials to interweave teachers’ history with feminism, demography, politics, economy, and institutions, but she limits her attention to female teachers in two rural California counties from 1850 to 1950. Even when she has local census data, she provides only vague statements about the living arrangements. One example is as follows: “The great majority of teachers listed in the Tulare and Kings County censuses between 1880 and 1920 were young, unmarried, white women, living in their parents’ households or, by 1920, as boarders with families or in boardinghouses” (Weiler 1998, 143). To be nationally or at least regionally representative, quantitative analysis is inevitable; it is difficult to generalize impressions gleaned from qualitative materials. Bernard and Vinovskis (1977) lead the way by studying demographic and occupational characteristics of female teachers in antebellum Massachu- setts. Strober and Best (1979) focus on a single city in a single year, San Fran- cisco in 1879, to measure the gender wage gap of public school teachers. Later, Carter (1986) extends the geographical coverage to the country, creating a nationally representative sample, but her interest lies in the occupational and demographic characteristics of teachers. Rather unusually, Fultz (1995) pays attention to black teachers from 1890 to 1940 using various data sets including the census, and yet his interest is the same as Carter’s. Margo (1984) tries to look at both white and black teachers, but his data concern only their salaries in the South in 1910. Perlmann and Margo’s (2001) work is more comprehensive; they use nationally representative data whenever possible, and their period of interest stretches to the colonial period. Their interests, however, do not differ much from those of the previous literature. Similarly, Sohn (2012) covers the US as a whole, but he investigates the social class origins of teachers between 1860 and 1920. As can be seen, it is difficult to find studies that are closely related to this paper. Findings that are the closest to this paper are reported in a survey of teachers in Connecticut in 1924: “nearly one-third of those in one-room schools

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 342 and 8% in consolidated schools were boarding in homes which had children in their school” (Clifford 1975a, 264). Although it does contribute to our understanding about the living arrangements of teachers in the past, this survey provides a too limited aspect of their living arrangements. Hence, teachers have not been at the center of the history of US education in spite of their important roles in education. Even if they have, the interests of researchers lie mostly in their lives at work. When their daily lives do receive some attention, historical materials to uncover them are selective. In turn, when representative data are tapped into, their daily lives are neglected. This paper connects the two issues that have hitherto remained separate, i.e., the daily lives of teachers and national representativeness, initiating research that uses nationally representative data to understand the daily lives of teachers, specifically their living arrangements, from 1860 to 1910.

3. Data

This paper draws on the Integrated Public Use Microdata Series, which is a collection of US census data starting in 1850. The period of interest ranges from 1850 to 1910, during which fundamental changes such as feminization and bureaucratization took place in US education (e.g., Cubberley 1919, ch. 8; Perlmann and Margo 2001; Jeynes 2007, chs. 6, 7). The data for 1850 exclude the occupations of women and blacks, and the data for 1890 were lost in a fire. Hence, the years actually covered in this paper consist of 1860, 1870, 1880, 1900, and 1910. Furthermore, because black teachers are one of our research interests, data with black oversamples are used, whenever possible.2 Teachers are clearly identified from the variables of occupation and industry. Specifically, a worker is defined as a teacher in this paper if his primary occupation is “teachers (n.e.c.)” and his industry is “educational services.”3

2 Specifically, the following data are used: the one percent samples with black oversample for 1860 and 1870; the 10 percent sample for 1880; the five percent sample for 1900; and the 1.4 percent sample with oversamples for 1910. 3 The variable of occupation is based on the 1950 Census Bureau occupational classification system (OCC 1950), which enhances comparability across years. The code of teachers (n.e.c.) is 93. Other types of teachers are excluded from analyses such as art teachers, dancing teachers, and music teachers. They are not considered “typical” schoolteachers, and just by examining OCC 1950, it is difficult to tell whether they engaged in teaching at all. In addition, their numbers are small: for example, whereas the number of art teachers, including artists, in the one percent 1910 sample, is 377, the corresponding number for teachers (n.e.c.) is 5,703. The variable of industry is based on the 1950 Census Bureau industrial classification system (IND 1950), which also enhances comparability across years. The code of educational services is 888; the application of IND 1950 is inconsequential for results because this code is assigned to almost all teachers. Studying Southern white women who taught freed people in the South, Butchart (2010, 56) points out that under-enumeration of

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 343 Note, however, that an occupation in the census refers to a primary occupation. During the period of interest, it was not uncommon to combine teaching with other occupations such as farming, bell-ringing, and grave-digging (Elsbree 1939, ch. 18; Perlmann and Margo 2001, ch. 1). Also, teaching was not a year- long occupation, especially in rural areas in early years; in general, men taught in winter and women taught in summer. And yet, teaching became a year-long occupation, and the gender distinction by seasons blurred as bureaucratization progressed, numbers of students increased, and school terms grew longer. One should be aware of the changing characteristics of teaching during the period with regard to the classification of teachers in the census.4 The focus of this paper is placed on living arrangements. There are many ways of classifying living arrangements. The census distinguishes living arrangements largely based on whether or not an individual lived in a group quarter.5 Omitted are teachers who resided in institutions, which include cor- rectional institutions, mental institutions, and institutions for the elderly, handi- capped, and poor. The reason is that they were likely to be characteristically different from school teachers. Because few teachers resided in institutions, however, the restriction does not matter. In essence, a group quarter in this paper is defined as non-institutional group quarter. A teacher in a household is further distinguished based on his or her relationship with the household head.6

female occupations can be problematic in the census: many women in the census are designated as “keeping house,” “at home,” or “attending school.” One must be cautious in asserting the under-enumeration, however, because the designations may actually be true. At least, the woman herself or a person who knew her well reported her occupation in the census. Also, the possibility cannot be ignored that data that are considered authoritative such as school records are incorrect, as school records might not be up-to-date. 4 Another concern with the definition of a teacher is that changes in universe and coding regarding the collection of occupational information may affect comparisons over time. The universe indeed changed, but the changes are irrelevant for teachers. For example, all persons were asked about their primary occupation in 1870, whereas the same question was asked to persons aged 10 and above and others with a regular occupation in 1880. Because a certain level of education was required to become a teacher, which raised the ages of teachers, the minimum age requirement in the universe must not have affected the pool of teachers. Occupational coding also changed decade by decade. For example, in the nineteenth century, work settings and economic sector received greater emphasis than a worker’s specific technical function. In this case, one’s industry is known, but not necessarily his occupation. Harmonized occupational and industry coding was created to minimize the problem, and this paper uses the coding for occupation and industry. In addition, census manuscript responses for the period of interest were directly transcribed into OCC 1950, so coding errors are expected to be small. Furthermore, such a generally known occupation as a teacher is unlikely to be subject to coding errors. 5 In the census, group quarters are defined as units with 10 or more individuals unrelated to the householder. 6 Individuals self-reported their relationship to the head of household in 1880 and following, but prior to that date this relationship was imputed by the census. That distinction makes it difficult to interpret trends in these variables, as there is a clear break in methodology be-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 344 If he or she was a household head, a spouse, or a child to the household head, he or she is designated as living in a nuclear family. If he or she was a relative (other than a nuclear family member) to the household head, he or she is designated as living with distant relatives. Finally, if he or she was unrelated to the household head, he or she is designated as living with non-relatives. The definitions of relatives and non-relatives in the classification follow those provided in the census. Hence, there are four distinct forms of living arrangements: living in a nuclear family, living with distant relatives in a household, living with non-relatives in a household, and living in a group quarter.7 Census data have many advantages over diaries, letters, memoirs, missionary reports, and even local statistical data, which are usually relied upon in the literature. Most of all, census data are nationally representative, periodically long, and comparable over time. The wide geographical coverage helps us appreciate how teachers lived not only in a few local settings but also across the country. The characteristic of representativeness addresses the concern of biased observations. Also, the length of the time covered by the data facilitates charting of trends in the living arrangements. Not only are the data geographically wide and long in terms of time, each variable is comparable across states and years, which improves consistency in the trend.8 In contrast, other types of data lack one or all of the characteristics. Not all teachers in the country write diaries, letters, memoirs, or missionary reports. Also, these materials cover a short period, one’s lifetime at the longest. Local statistical data are not nationally representative by definition, and most local data are collected irregularly. Also, even if local data sets could be connected by period or location, it would be difficult to make connected data sets comparable across states or time because each data set uses different definitions of variables. For example, the occupation termed “teacher” may include not only school teachers but also school administrators in some data sets, but not in other data sets. Of course, census data are not superior to other types of data in all aspects. If so, only census data would have been used in the history of education. Most

tween 1870 and 1880. And yet, this break is of little concern because most of the analyses focus on the years between 1880 and 1910. Even when statistics for 1860 and 1870 are used, there are no discernable discontinuities in the trends between 1870 and 1880. 7 One may argue that the siblings of the head/householder can be considered nuclear families. The same argument can be extended to in-laws and even grandchildren. Just as living arrangements can be categorized in various ways, types of relatives can be categorized in various ways. Although other categorizations do have merit, the above distinctions are followed below because a unit of heads/householders, spouses, and children seem to be the most immediate unit of family. 8 The panel of states/territories included in the West region over time is not a balanced one. For example, Alaska is not in the sample for 1850-1860, 1940, and 1950. However, only a few states are excluded in the sample for the period between 1860 and 1910, and even the states are relatively small in terms of population.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 345 of all, census data do not provide information on detailed aspects of the living arrangements of teachers. For example, an Arizona Perkins wrote in her diary that she found her landlord very pleasant and friendly (Kaufman 1984, 129). Another critical disadvantage is a lack of longitudinal information on living arrangements, as teachers changed their living arrangements. For example, they might initially live with their parents, but when they moved to other states, they would go into boarding houses. Alternatively, teachers might choose to board, but they would change their places of boarding. A good example of this is teachers who moved from the Northeast to the West and the South. When a Sarah Ballard (later Sarah Thurston) from Worcester, MA was sent by the National Popular Education Board to Rosendale and Grand Marsh, WI, she boarded in several locations. Once she married, however, she stopped boarding and planned to teach at home by building an addition to her house for a school (Kaufman 1984, 208-10). Unfortunately, census data are silent on dynamics of this kind in living arrangements. As can be seen below, however, census data have enough variables for an initial study on the living arrangements of teachers from 1860 to 1910.

4. Results

4.1 The Living Arrangements in the Country Because white teachers were numerically dominant during the period, they are examined first, followed by comparisons of the living arrangements of white and black teachers. Two figures are reported in each cell in Table 1: the figure outside parentheses refers to teachers, and the figure in parentheses refers to the comparison group. This style of reference will continue to be used from now on. The comparison group consists of all individuals aged between 15 and 65 inclusive who resided in non-institutional group quarters and participated in the labor force. Depending on the group of interest, further restrictions are imposed on the sample such as gender and race. Of course, a comparison group can be defined in other ways: other age ranges can be chosen, or specific occupations can be selected. Because we would like to know how teachers differed in living arrangements compared with general workers, the comparison group in this paper refers to general workers. Also, at the outset, it needs to be noted that time-series statistics of the distributions are not presented because the distributions varied little across the years except for the South (more on the South in Subsection 4.2). This point is important because it implies that one broad historical trend alone does not predominate in stability and change in the distribution of the living arrangements such as urbanization (more in Subsections 4.2) and the feminization of teaching (more in Subsections 4.3); the stability and

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 346 change are complicated, so more need to be taken into account at the same time (more in Subsection 4.5).

Table 1: Distribution of White Teachers by Region and Living Arrangement Northeast Midwest South West All Regions 67.70 71.60 68.09 60.35 69.02 Nuclear family (73.93) (77.74) (82.40) (63.06) (76.50) Distant 9.96 8.52 11.22 8.07 9.48 Relatives (5.62) (4.46) (5.59) (4.10) (5.09) 15.03 16.16 14.78 20.36 15.78 Non-Relatives (16.29) (13.73) (9.99) (19.33) (14.14) 7.30 3.71 5.91 11.22 5.72 Group Quarter (4.16) (4.07) (2.02) (13.51) (4.28) 17,281 23,288 10,735 3,173 54,477 N (1,073,572) (1,158,927) (714,990) (214,894) (3,162,383) Notes: Figures outside parentheses refer to teachers whereas figures in parentheses refer to the comparison group. The comparison group consists of all individuals aged between 15 and 65 inclusive who resided in non-institutional group quarters and participated in the labor force. All the figures are the average of each form of living arrangements from 1860 to 1910. Time-series statistics of the distribution are not shown because the distribution varies little across the years.

The table shows that about 70 percent of white teachers lived in a nuclear family in all regions and in all years, but that the proportion was 7.5 percentage points smaller than the comparison group. Living with non-relatives was the second most popular mode of living. About 16 percent of white teachers in all regions and in all years lived in such a way, and this figure is very similar to that of the comparison group. Regional differences notwithstanding, the dominance of the form of living in a nuclear family challenges the early impression that boarding around is a pervasive nineteenth-century practice (Clifford 1975a, 264; Maxcy 1979, 267; Hoffman 2003, 82-4). The protagonist in the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod Crane, reinforces the impression.9 This finding highlights the importance of using representative data. The evidence unambiguously tells that boarding was never pervasive across regions and years, although the possibility remains that a typical teacher might have boarded at least one time in his or her career. The finding has an implication for the teacher labor market. There is some evidence that in principle, the teacher labor market was working at the national level already in the early 19th century, but the dominance of living in a nuclear family suggests that in practice, the market was working mostly at the local level. Because a male teacher could have taken his entire family to a new place, the market could be considered working at the national level (Tolley and Bead-

9 Although the story is set circa 1790, Ichabod Crane seems to capture the image of teachers in our period of interest well.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 347 ie 2006). However, the fact that living in a nuclear family was the prevailing type even for the female teaching force maintains that the market was in operation at the local level. The reason that living in a nuclear family was dominant in the literature can be attributed to the tendency of migration. At least with regard to female teachers, a cultural prejudice against unattached women who lived alone would discourage them from leaving home. Parents might want to keep their daugh- ters at nest (Hoffman 2003, 103-17). This would be especially the case when most of the female teachers came from the middle class and (rich) farming houses (Sohn 2012). In spite of difficulties in defining, measuring, and estimating the proportion, Sohn (2011) estimates that, in 1880, only 8.3 percent of white young female teachers migrated across states. As a local history of teachers and Subsection 4.5 demonstrate (e.g., Johnson 1975; Bern 1975), teachers born and residing in the same state were more likely to live in a nuclear family. These pieces of evidence suggest that qualitative sources provide a biased view of the past. When keeping a diary was a way to relieve loneliness in a boarding house, teachers residing in boarding houses would be more likely to do so. When teachers lived in a nuclear family, they did not need to write letters to their parents. Adventurous teachers had more interesting stories to tell in memoirs. Missionary reports were by definition written by missionaries, and for our case, by single female missionaries sent away from home. It may be more exciting to study the experiences of migrant teachers, but the quantitative evidence suggests that the majority of teachers led more mundane lives, living in a nuclear family.

4.2 The Living Arrangements by Region At first glance, the distributions of the living arrangements differ little by region in Table 1, but a careful reading of figures in and out of the table reveals some notable differences. The differences are especially noteworthy when they are related to a regional and historical context. As the focus is narrowed on the form of living in a nuclear family, the South becomes a subject of much interest. There, while teachers who lived in a nuclear family increased from 59.5 percent in 1860 to 72.5 percent by 1910, teachers who lived with non-relatives decreased from 24.8 percent to 13.3 percent (results not shown). In contrast, both forms of living arrangements varied little for the comparison group. For example, the form of living in a nuclear family for the comparison group rose from 80.3 percent in 1860 to only 82.2 percent by 1910 (results not shown). Thus, white teachers in the South did not follow the trend in the living arrangements of the comparison group. For this form of living arrangements, the South also exhibited the largest gap between the teacher group and the comparison group, namely, 14.3 percentage points, which was about twice the overall gap. The gap is largely at-

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 348 tributed to the strong preference of the comparison group for living in a nuclear family. In fact, 68.1 percent of white teachers in the South chose this form of living arrangements, which was nearly the same as the overall proportion. In contrast, 82.4 percent of the comparison group lived in such a way, which was greater than the overall proportion of 76.5 percent. Thus, with regard to the form of living in a nuclear family, white teachers in the South seemed to follow closely the main form of living arrangements in the profession rather than that in the region. It is another issue why the comparison group in the South strongly preferred living in a nuclear family. One main reason appears to be the importance of agriculture in the region. The Midwest, another agro-based region, also displayed a strong preference for this form of living arrangements. Living arrangements in the West were distinct from those in other regions. The proportion of white teachers living in a nuclear family was 60.4 percent for the entire period, whereas the proportions were higher in the rest of the regions. Similarly, teachers who lived with non-relatives and who lived in a group quarter accounted for 20.4 percent and 11.2 percent, respectively, in the West, but the combined proportions were about 20 percent in the other regions. These characteristics of living arrangements in the West are in accordance with the migratory characteristic of the region, and the comparison group also displayed the same characteristic. However, the same characteristic does not apply to the Midwest, where the proportion of teachers living in a nuclear family was the highest. Thus, stories of single female teachers from the Northeast who were zealously devoted to educating ignorant settlers in the new territory seem to be unrepresentative of teachers in the Midwest. It is not that there were few migrations of the kind; the emphasis lies in representativeness. In fact, among white female teachers aged between 15 and 35, who were a very mobile group of teachers, 13.6 percent of teachers born in the Northeast were found in the Midwest in 1880. And yet, as much as 94.1 percent of teachers born in the Midwest were found in the same region (Sohn 2011). Simply put, the stories exaggerate the western migration of teachers born in the Northeast. It could be objected that the stories are correct at least during the early period of settlement, but the proportion of teachers living in a nuclear family was still as high as 71.9 percent in 1860 (results not shown). Just as farming was a family-based activity in the Midwest, teaching also seemed to reflect this regional characteristic. One characteristic of the Northeast that was distinct from the other regions was its high urbanization levels. The levels were already noticeable in the early nineteenth century (Williamson 1965). Perlmann and Margo (1989, 70) “expect that living at home was the norm among teachers in urban areas.” It is unclear how they come up with this expectation, but the relationship between the living arrangements and urbanization is not simple. For example, as urbanization advanced, the distance between teachers’ homes and their schools would become closer, which might help teachers commute from home. On the other

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 349 hand, if urbanization came with cultural and physical freedom of mobility, more teachers would leave home. In addition, unless urbanization was a dominant force on changes in the living arrangements, other factors must have cancelled out the effects of urbanization. Reflecting the complicated relationship, simple tabulations do not bear their expectation out. With regard to a cross-sectional analysis, the Northeast was the most urbanized region, but the proportion of living at home (here, living in a nuclear family) was roughly equal to the national mean. With regard to a times-series analysis, while urbanization swept the country and particularly rapidly in the Northeast, the proportion of teachers living at home in the Northeast varied little over time. As seen from the relationship between urbanization and the form of living in a nuclear family, the relationship of the form of living with non-relatives cannot be presumed to be simple. In fact, as urbanization progressed further by the end of the nineteenth century, Progressive moralists and reformers protested against boarding and lodging (here, living with non-relatives) that were practiced in the Northeast (Modell and Hareven 1973, 468-9). The practice was even called “the lodger evil.” The outcry notwithstanding, the proportion of the form of living with non-relatives barely changed in the Northeast over the period. It seems that urbanization was not critical for the living arrangements. Subsection 4.5 disen- tangles the intricate relationship between the living arrangements and urbanization by controlling for other relevant variables. The results indicate that urbanization is associated less with the form of living in a nuclear family and more with the form of living with non-relatives.

4.3 The Living Arrangements by Gender As much as the patterns of living arrangements differed by region, they might also differ by gender because married women were, de jure or de facto, prohibited from teaching during the period. In fact, as reported in Table A-1, 41.3 percent of white male teachers were married with spouses present from 1880 to 1910, whereas the corresponding figure was only 3.6 percent for white female teachers. In contrast, being never married/single was the proportionally dominant form of marital status for female teachers, namely 92.0 percent. Also note that marital status changed little across the years for both genders, so these numbers can be generalized for the whole period.10

10 Incidentally, it is found that although widowed female teachers frequently appear in the history of education, they were never numerically important. In fact, the proportion of wid- owhood among female teachers was nearly the same as that of male teachers, which indicates that widowed female teachers receive too much attention relative to their male counterparts. The overrepresentation is understandable given that feminism has fueled most of the recent histories of teachers; naturally, feminism pays more attention to women. For example, Enss (2008, 40-9) describes the life of a widow, Tabitha Brown. Similarly, Kaufman

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 350 Table 2: Distribution of White Teachers by Gender and Living Arrangement Male Female Nuclear Family 73.72 67.24 Distant Relatives 5.88 10.85 Non-Relatives 15.66 15.82 Group Quarter 4.74 6.09 N 14,938 39,539 Notes: All figures are the average of each form of living arrangements from 1860 to 1910. Time-series statistics of the distribution are not shown because the distribution varies little across the years.

Table 2 demonstrates that although their marital status is contrasted in a dra- matic fashion, the living arrangements differed little by gender except for living with distant relatives. 73.7 percent of male teachers lived in a nuclear family, and the corresponding figure for female teachers was roughly similar at 67.2 percent. The proportions of the rest of the forms of living arrangement were virtually the same for both genders. The different patterns of marital status, but similar patterns of living arrangements by gender can be largely explained by their relations to heads/ householders. As can be seen in Table A-2, more than half of the male teachers during the period were heads/householders, when they lived in a nuclear family. By contrast, almost all female teachers, about 90 percent, were the children of heads/householders. This fact is not inconsistent with stories in qualitative materials that some parents discouraged female children from teaching away from home (e.g., Hoffman 2003, 103-17). Hence, although the majority of both male and female teachers lived in a nuclear family, male teachers lived as heads/householders (if married), but female teachers lived as dependents.11 The second largest form of living arrangements for both genders is living with non-relatives, which partially reflects migratory characteristics of teaching during the period. Although the proportions varied little across the years, it is possible that the status of residents changed within the form of living arrangements. Table 3 confirms this conjecture. When the three most prevalent forms of living with non-relatives are considered, the proportion of male boarders decreased from 86.4 percent in 1880 to 62.0 percent by 1910, which resulted

(1984, Appendix D) lists two teachers who had been widowed before they became pioneer teachers: Abby Willard Stanton and Flora Davis Winslow. 11 The proportion of heads/householders increased from 47.6 percent in 1860 to 60.2 percent by 1910, which is in stark contrast to the stable proportion for female teachers. One possible reason is that as school terms became longer, teaching became a more stable occupation that even heads/householders could pursue and became less likely to be steppingstones for later careers such as ministers, lawyers, and doctors, or secondary jobs that single males usually took up. In fact, the median age of male teachers rose from 25.5 years in 1860 to 29.0 years by 1910. Although more rigorous education requirements for teaching were a factor for the increase, the stability of teaching as an occupation seems to be another contributing factor to the increase.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 351 from increases of similar size in the percentage points of both lodgers and roomers. Although not as pronounced as the case of male teachers, patterns were similar for female teachers.

Table 3: Changes in the Distribution of White Teachers by Gender and Relation to the Household Head: Only White Teachers Who Lived with Non-Relatives Male Female Year 1880 1900 1910 All Years 1880 1900 1910 All Years 86.37 76.28 61.96 74.53 81.01 79.37 63.50 74.18 Boarders (59.70) (65.21) (52.94) (57.17) (22.22) (29.25) (25.49) (23.53) 0.65 10.25 14.12 4.87 0.91 8.82 14.77 5.85 Lodgers (2.15) (8.34) (17.74) (6.44) (0.87) (5.00) (11.69) (3.50) 0.32 5.86 11.37 3.12 0.35 3.57 8.84 2.85 Roomer (0.63) (3.74) (7.10) (2.61) (0.28) (2.43) (4.49) (1.48) 87.34 92.39 87.45 82.52 82.27 91.76 87.11 82.88 Total (62.48) (77.29) (77.78) (66.22) (23.37) (36.68) (41.67) (28.51) Notes: Figures outside parentheses refer to teachers whereas figures in parentheses refer to the comparison group. The comparison group consists of all individuals aged between 15 and 65 inclusive who resided in non-institutional group quarters and participated in the labor force. “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. The total does not sum up to 100 because other minor categories are omitted. Detailed codes are unavailable for the years 1860 and 1870.

The changes in the living arrangements might follow the general trends. In fact, the comparison groups also displayed preferences against boarding and for lodging and rooming. As far as boarding is concerned, however, the changes were not as clear as for teachers. The preference for boarding increased between 1880 and 1900 for both comparison groups, which stands in contrast to the continuous decrease for teachers. Hence, the general trend cannot explain the changes in the preferences. Also, this contrast refutes the possibility that there was just a cultural change in the use of the terms of boarding, lodging, and rooming. It is difficult to understand how lodgers differed from roomers, but Table 3 depicts the general pattern that more teachers, whether male or female, became independent in the sense that they prepared their own meals rather than landlords doing it for them.12 When gender is discussed in the context of living arrangements, the feminization of teaching cannot be omitted because of its importance in the history of US education. Before the feminization seriously begun, Horace Mann, then the secretary of the Massachusetts Board of Education, already advocated using female teachers by asking a rhetorical question: “Is not woman destined to conduct the rising generation, of both sexes, at least through all the primary

12 The differences in boarding proportions between teachers and the comparison groups are mostly explained by the proportions of servants.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 352 stages of education? Has not the Author of nature preadapted her, by constitution, and faculty, and temperament for this noble work?” (quoted from Hoff- man 2003, 4). Among white teachers in the US, the proportion of women was already 60.5 percent in 1860, and it reached 84.0 percent by 1920. Under the marriage bar, which was rigidly enforced until the Second World War, the feminization essentially means that more single women accounted for the teaching profession. Depending on characteristics of single female teachers vis- à-vis those of (married and single) male teachers, the living arrangements would change. For example, if single female teachers were more mobile, possibly because they were unattached, the form of living in a nuclear family would decline over time. Instead, if they were less mobile, possibly because they were conservative or their parents did not want them to move far alone, the proportion of living in a nuclear family would increase over time. Furthermore, just as in the case of the relationship between the living arrangements and urbanization, other factors must have modified the effects of the feminization on the living arrangements. Hence, it is not surprising to find that bivariate analysis does not support this expectation. Recall from the discussion of Table 1 that the distribution of the living arrangements changed little during the period; this is also the case for each gender, which is why time-series statistics are omitted in relation to Table 2. One may suspect that the conflicting directions of mobility of single female teachers produced the constant results. However, male teachers also showed similar patterns over time for the distribution of the overall living arrangements and of the form of living with non-relatives. Subsection 4.5 demonstrates the importance of holding other relevant variables constant; the overall result indicates that women were less likely to live in a nuclear family.

4.4 The Living Arrangements by Race Teachers other than white and black teachers were so rare during the period that the following analysis compares only white and black teachers. Also, Ta- ble A-3 presents that about 90 percent of black teachers lived in the South, whereas the distribution of white teachers was not skewed to the same extent. The geographically uneven distribution of black teachers is not surprising because the mass migration of blacks to the North had not yet taken place. Hence, understanding black teachers in the country is almost synonymous with understanding black teachers in the South. Two points in Table 4 stand out with regard to changes in the living arrangements by race. First, few black teachers lived in a group quarter. It is granted that the figure for the comparison group also indicates that living in a group quarter was rare for the black population. Even when compared with the comparison group, however, few black teachers lived in group quarters, especially in 1900 and 1910. It could be that racial discrimination against blacks

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 353 prevented them from building group quarters for black teachers. Alternatively, the reason could be more innocuous. Recall that black teachers tended to stay in the South. They might want to stay in the South, or their movement might be restricted because of few better outside options, a lack of funds needed for migration, or adverse terms and conditions of work contracts. If they stayed in the South for certain reasons, the demand for group quarters must have been low. The next subsection provides evidence supporting this point in that a teacher who resided in the same state as the birth state was more likely to live in a nuclear family with relevant variables being controlled for.13 Second, with the passage of time, more black teachers lived in a nuclear family and fewer black teachers lived with non-relatives. In contrast, proportions for both cases were more or less stable for white teachers. Specifically, the proportion of white teachers who lived in a nuclear family fluctuated within a narrow band of 69 percent, and the proportion for living with non-relatives did so within a small range of 16 percent. On the other hand, 68.6 percent and 21.1 percent of black teachers lived in a nuclear family and with non-relatives, respectively, in 1880; the corresponding figures changed to 81.8 percent and 9.0 percent by 1910. The black comparison group also showed a stronger preference for living in a nuclear family, but only to a small extent: its proportion for living in a nuclear family rose slightly from 76.0 percent to 79.3 percent between 1880 and 1910.

Table 4: Changes in the Distribution of Teachers by Race and Living Arrangement Black White Year 1880 1900 1910 All Years 1880 1900 1910 All Years Nuclear 68.57 79.92 81.76 74.06 67.06 71.20 69.06 69.02 Family (75.96) (77.85) (79.30) (76.77) (76.04) (77.69) (75.41) (76.55) Distant 8.53 9.38 9.01 8.90 9.21 10.03 8.77 9.48 Relatives (4.50) (6.12) (6.37) (5.08) (4.47) (5.37) (5.96) (5.03) Non- 21.07 10.51 9.01 15.95 17.71 13.20 16.53 15.78 Relatives (17.85) (14.56) (13.01) (16.54) (14.95) (13.23) (13.82) (14.13) Group 1.83 0.19 0.21 1.08 6.02 5.57 5.64 5.72 Quarter (1.70) (1.47) (1.31) (1.60) (4.55) (3.72) (4.80) (4.28) 1,642 1,056 477 3,235 23,117 20,898 7,974 54,477 N (452,049) (165,557) (73,857) (691,463) (1,406,722) (1,111,055) (464,204) (2,981,981) Notes: Figures outside parentheses refer to teachers whereas figures in parentheses refer to the comparison group. The comparison group consists of all individuals aged between 15 and 65 inclusive who resided in non-institutional group quarters and participated in the labor force. “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. Because the sample sizes of black teachers are only 7 and 53 for 1860 and 1870, respectively, the starting year is 1880.

13 For further discussion on black migration, see Johnson and Campbell (1981) and Jones (2009, ch. 5).

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 354 One partial reason for the increasing proportion of black teachers living in a nuclear family could be that, although not allowed for white female teachers, more married black women became teachers. According to Table A-4, 15.6 percent of black female teachers were married with spouses present in 1880, and the proportion jumped to 25.0 percent by 1910. Thus, as the feminization of teaching progressed, the proportion of female teachers rose for both black and white female teachers. However, more black female teachers were married, whereas white female teachers continued to be dependents, a fact verified in Table A-5: the proportion of spouses for black teachers soared from 7.6 percent in 1880 to 20.3 percent by 1910, whereas the proportion of children was stable around 76 percent for white teachers.14 It could be objected that comparing black and white teachers in the country as a whole is misleading because about 90 percent of black teachers lived in the South. Hence, a more comparable white group would be white teachers in the South. When the white group is compared, the direction of the changes in the distribution of the living arrangements is similar, but the size of the changes is more pronounced for black teachers. Specifically, for the white group between 1880 and 1910, the proportion of teachers living in a nuclear family rose from 62.1 to 72.5 percent, and the proportion of those living with non-relatives dropped from 19.2 percent to 13.3 percent (results not shown). It appears that black and white teachers in the South shared similar trends in living arrangements, but they still belonged to two distinct groups.

4.5 Determinants of the Living Arrangements Discussed so far are descriptive statistics related to the living arrangements by region, gender, and race. Discussions usually proceed with who lived how and possibly why. In this subsection, analysis extends beyond descriptive statistics to finding their determinants more systematically. Stressed above is the importance of controlling for relevant variables to recognize the complicated relationship of the living arrangements with other variables of interest. A multinomial logit model is applied for the purpose. The dependent variable is the four forms of living arrangements, with the form of living in a nuclear family being the reference category. We select independent variables that are considered to be exogenous. Personal characteristics include gender, race, age, whether a person did not live in her birth state (move), and whether a person

14 It is another issue why married women were allowed to teach for blacks but not for whites. No systematic research has been done to answer this question, but two reasons can be con- jectured. The first is that there were not enough teachers for black students, especially when blacks were prohibited from learning reading and writing in the antebellum South and white teachers in general avoided teaching black students in the postbellum South. An- other reason could be that the marriage bar was not rigidly applied to black female teachers because black teachers taught only black students.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 355 was born in the US (native). The “farm” variable is a household characteristic, which represents whether the occupation of anyone in the household was a farmer. Because there is only one primary occupation for one person, a farm household indicates that at least one person in the family with whom the teacher lived was a farmer. Geographical characteristics consist of urbanity, size of place, and census region.15 There is little to argue against exogeneity of the variables of gender, race, age, farm, and all the geographical characteristics because all of them were given to a teacher. Elaboration is necessary on the variables of “move” and “native,” however. The variable of move is endogenous if forms of living arrangements affected the choice of migration or a third factor caused both forms of living arrangements and the choice of migration. For example, if there were distant relatives who could provide accommodations in a certain state, the teacher would be more likely to move to that state than otherwise. And yet, migration could be forced. For example, she might follow her parents in child- hood, in which case, the variable of move is exogenous. Alternatively, even if she chose to move, the variable is exogenous if her decision of migration was unrelated to teaching. It is impossible to know why she moved just by examining the census. Hence, the variable of move may not be completely exogenous, but it may not be entirely endogenous, either. If endogeneity of the variable is of concern, it can be regarded as a control variable. Similar arguments are applied to the variable of native. The only difference between them is that whereas the variable of move concerns mobility within a country, the variable of native concerns mobility between countries.

15 A rather strong assumption is required for the use of the multinomial logit model, namely the independence of irrelevant alternatives. This assumption implies that the relative odds between the two alternatives are not affected by adding a third alternative to the choice set. Specifically for this paper, this assumption requires that the odds of living in a nuclear family and living with distant relatives are invariant to adding the alternative of living with non-relatives or living in group quarters. The same logic applies to all other possible combinations of relative odds. There are a few tests for this assumption, among which the most used are tests suggested by Hausman and McFadden (1984) and Small and Hsiao (1985). Unfortunately, both tests yield inconsistent and counterintuitive results (see Cheng and Long 2007). Thus, it is difficult to test whether or not the assumption is satisfied. Alternative models are available such as the models of generalized extreme value, multinomial probit, and mixed logit. All the alternative models require their own strong assumptions, however. For example, the use of the models of generalized extreme value and multinomial probit requires the assumption of the invariant proportion of substitution. Moreover, they are computationally costly. For these reasons, although not perfect, this paper relies on a multinomial logit model.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 356 Table 5: Odds Ratios of Alternative Living Arrangements versus Living in a Nuclear Family: Multinomial Logit Distant Non- Group Distant Non- Group Distant Non- Group Relatives relatives Quarter Relatives relatives Quarter Relatives relatives Quarter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 2.281 1.164 1.808 2.338 1.190 1.878 2.348 1.208 1.892 Female (-0.089)*** (0.032)*** (0.089)*** (0.092)*** (0.033)*** (0.094)*** (0.092)*** (0.034)*** (0.095)*** 1.126 0.921 5.315 1.128 0.948 5.461 1.138 0.955 5.434 White (0.078)* (0.051) (0.936)*** (0.079)* (0.052) (0.962)*** (0.079)* (0.054) (0.958)*** 1.065 1.048 1.075 1.069 1.055 1.080 1.069 1.053 1.079 Age (0.007)*** (0.007)*** (0.010)*** (0.007)*** (0.007)*** (0.010)*** (0.007)*** (0.007)*** (0.010)*** 1.000 0.999 0.999 0.999 0.999 0.999 0.999 0.999 0.999 Age Squared (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** (<0.000)*** 1.268 2.144 3.061 1.237 2.071 2.980 1.233 2.075 2.981 Move (0.044)*** (0.057)*** (0.142)*** (0.043)*** (0.056)*** (0.139)*** (0.043)*** (0.056)*** (0.140)*** 1.032 0.824 0.441 1.031 0.826 0.446 1.030 0.827 0.443 Native (0.071) (0.040)*** (0.025)*** (0.071) (0.040)*** (0.025)*** (0.071) (0.040)*** (0.025)*** 1.341 1.214 0.004 1.349 1.241 0.004 1.357 1.268 0.004 Farm (0.053)*** (0.037)*** (0.002)*** (0.053)*** (0.038)*** (0.002)*** (0.054)*** (0.039)*** (0.002)*** 1.035 1.043 1.219 1.020 1.019 1.179 1.043 1.078 1.213 Urban (0.067) (0.054) (0.104)** (0.066) (0.052) (0.100)* (0.068) (0.056) (0.104)** Size of Place 1.149 1.037 0.940 1.190 1.105 1.016 1.181 1.087 1.008 1,000-9,999 (0.067)** (0.047) (0.074) (0.070)*** (0.051)** (0.080) (0.069)*** (0.050)* (0.080) Size of Place 1.219 1.106 1.361 1.285 1.209 1.522 1.260 1.148 1.495 10,000-99,999 (0.097)** (0.070) (0.134)*** (0.103)*** (0.077)*** (0.150)*** (0.101)*** (0.074)** (0.148)***

Table 5 continued… Size of Place 1.533 0.896 1.823 1.620 0.978 2.034 1.579 0.908 1.975 100,000+ (0.119)*** (0.058)* (0.175)*** (0.126)*** (0.063) (0.195)*** (0.124)*** (0.056) (0.191)*** 0.901 0.861 0.626 0.922 0.885 0.640 0.923 0.840 0.736 Midwest (0.034)*** (0.026)*** (0.031)*** (0.035)** (0.027)*** (0.032)*** (0.211) (0.160) (0.405) 1.242 0.899 1.188 1.277 0.926 1.206 1.325 1.823 4.288 South (0.052)*** (0.033)*** (0.067)*** (0.054)*** (0.034)** (0.068)*** (0.347) (0.365)*** (1.848)*** 0.833 1.018 1.130 0.894 1.092 1.239 1.351 1.096 <0.000 West (0.062)** (0.054) (0.080)* (0.067) (0.058) (0.089)*** (1.127) (0.773) (<0.000)*** Year No No No Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Yes Region-by- No No No No No No Yes Yes Yes Year Pseudo R2 0.067 0.069 0.072 Notes: Size of place under 1,000 or unincorporated is omitted for size of place. The region of Northeast is omitted for census regions. The sample size is 57,712. Standard errors are in parentheses. ***: p-value <0.01, **: p-value<0.05, *: p-value<0.10.

Three specifications are used to check the robustness of the estimates. Year and region-by-year dummies are added to the basic model incrementally. The dummies of year and region-by-year are omitted from the basic specification as in Columns 1-3 of Table 5. Because the living arrangements could differ in different years, year dummies are added to the basic specification as in Col- umns 4-6. Finally, it is possible that each region could show distinct patterns of living arrangements each year, so region-by-year dummies are further added to control for them as in Columns 7-9. The odds ratio of each variable is reported for ease of interpretation. In Col- umns 1-3, one can find that female gender increases the odds of living with distant relatives, living with non-relatives, and living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by 128.1 percent, 16.4 percent, and 80.8 percent, respectively. The main reason seems to be that almost all female teachers were single and, related to this, more migratory. As can be anticipated from Table 4, white race increases the odds of living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by more than five times. Also, one additional year of age raises the odds of all forms of living arrangements instead of living in a nuclear family by about 6 percent. In other words, older teachers were less likely to live in a nuclear family. This finding is of some interest because it contradicts the common notion that, as teachers grew older, they settled down to live in a nuclear family.16 A teacher who did not live in her birth state is 26.8 percent more likely to live with distant relatives than live in a nuclear family. The odds ratios increase further for living with non-relatives and living in a group quarter by more than two times and three times, respectively. This pattern of living arrangements demonstrates that, as teachers moved out of their birth state, they were more likely to live with strangers. Because the concept of being native is similar to that of moving, both odds ratios show similar patterns. Being native decreases the odds of living with non-relatives and living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by 17.6 percent and 55.9 percent, respectively. In other words, a teacher who moved between countries was more likely to live with strangers. A group quarter is classified as non-farms in the census, so it is immaterial to see the extremely low odds ratio of the variable of farm. More interesting results are odds ratios for the other forms of living arrangements. If a household contained a farmer, the odds of living with distant relatives instead of living in a nuclear family rise by 34.1 percent. The corresponding odds for living with non-relatives are 21.4 percent. Overall, it is understood that farm households were more likely to accommodate teachers whether teachers were distant-relatives or non-relatives compared to non-farm households. Because

16 The variable of age squared is always statistically significant at conventional levels, but its odds ratio is virtually one, which makes the variable lose its substantive effects.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 359 urbanity is controlled for, farm households raise the possibility of living with distant- or non-relatives independent of the effects of rural characteristics. It could be that farm households had more rooms available or a stronger need to earn extra money (supply effects) or that unattached teachers preferred farm households even in the same area (demand effects) for reasons yet to be uncov- ered. Living in a group quarter seemed to be a phenomenon that took place only in urban areas. Living in urban areas increases the odds of living in a group- quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by 21.9 percent. In contrast, urbanity does not have any statistically significant effects on other forms of living arrangements because the size of place captures its effects. As the size increases, the odds of living with distant relatives and of living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family increase dramatically. Relative to a place with less than 1,000 people, the odds of living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family rise by 82.3 percent if the teacher lived in a place with more than 100,000 people. As can be expected from Table 1, the Midwest had characteristics of family- based living arrangements. Compared to the Northeast, the odds of living in a nuclear family are always higher than other forms of living arrangements. Moreover, when people with whom a teacher lived were less related, the odds of opting for other forms of living arrangements instead of living in a nuclear family decrease further. In contrast, teaching in the South increases the odds of living with distant relatives and living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by 24.2 percent and 18.8 percent, respectively. Compared to the Northeast, teachers who taught in the South tended to avoid living with non- relatives, however. It could be that teachers in the South did not like to live with strangers too closely. They would rather choose living at least with people they knew (distant relatives) or living completely independent of others (group quarters). It is difficult to provide any plausible reason for the patterns of the choices, and the answer awaits future research. Teaching in the West is impres- sionistically associated with frontier teachers. If frontier teachers did not have relatives in the West, they would be more likely to live with strangers or would establish their own families. In fact, this appears to be the case. Compared to the Northeast, teaching in the West increases the odds of living in a group quarter instead of living in a nuclear family by 13.0 percent. When year dummies are added, the odds grow to 23.9 percent (see Column 6). In contrast, the odds of living in a nuclear family instead of living with distant relatives are 16.7 percent higher. Caution is required in taking the last result because the odds are not robust to adding year dummies, however (see Column 4). Finally, all the coefficients are similar across specifications, which indicates that the effects of the independent variables on the dependent variable are robust to changes in the specifications. The coefficients on the region dummies are exceptions, but this can be largely explained by their interactions with the

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 360 year dummies. When the first and second specifications are compared, the sizes of the coefficients on the region dummies are qualitatively the same.

5. Conclusions

Not enough attention has been paid to teachers in the history of US education. Even when consideration is given to them, it is mostly their lives at work. Dia- ries, letters, memoirs, and missionary reports are available for forming an impression of their daily lives, but these types of historical sources are not sufficient to consistently cover the country as a whole over a long period of time. This paper highlights the living arrangements of teachers, among many aspects of their daily lives. Using the US census data from 1860 to 1910, this paper attempts to provide descriptive statistics of the living arrangements of teachers by region, gender, and race. Also attempted is to find the determinants of the forms of living arrangements and the sizes of their effects. Some findings are new, and others conform to previous understandings. Even with regard to the latter, this paper contributes to the literature by producing specific numbers instead of impressions. One of the surprising findings is that most of the teachers lived in a nuclear family; this is true regardless of regions, genders, and races. This paper illustrates that the living arrangements reflect regional characteristics such as farming and migration. It is also newly found that the living arrangements differ little by gender in spite of their substantially different marital status: about 70 percent of both male and female teachers lived in a nuclear family across the years, but about half of male teachers were heads/householders whereas about 90 percent of female teachers were dependents. Black teachers are usually neglected in the literature, but they are also brought into analysis. Their living arrangements differed from those of white teachers to some extent. Specifically, a less proportion of black teachers lived in a group quarter than white teachers, and the proportion of black teachers living in a nuclear family grew over time in contrast to the constant proportion of white teachers. A lax application of the marriage bar to black female teachers seems to be the main reason for the increase. Finally, in a more systematic analysis by a multinomial logit model, a teacher with the following characteristics is found to be more likely to live in a nuclear family: male, white, young, staying in the birth state, native born. Places with the following characteristics are found to be more likely to have a teacher who lived in a nuclear family: non-farm, small size of place, and the Midwest. The model also demonstrates that it is important to control for relevant variables to explain the relationship of the living arrangements with broad historical trends such as urbanization and the feminization of teaching.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 361 The previous literature largely fails to shed quantitative light on the daily lives of teachers. This paper demonstrates how to combine topics in the daily lives of teachers with nationally representative data sets over a long period of time, especially focusing on the living arrangements of teachers from 1860 to 1910. Although qualitative studies complement quantitative studies, the former prevails in an understanding of the daily lives of teachers. If researchers in the history of education want to go beyond sketching mere impressions of the lives of teachers outside schools, more systematic methods are recommended. To- ward to this goal, quantitative analyses as illustrated in this paper provide a great possibility of deepening our understanding of teachers in the past. Alt- hough the period of interest is different from that of this paper, promising topics in this line of research include an understanding of the dwelling characteristics or uses of home appliances among teachers, relevant variables of which are available in the census.

Appendix

Table A-1: Changes in the Distribution of White Teachers by Gender and Marital Status Male Female Year 1880 1900 1910 All Years 1880 1900 1910 All Years Married, Spouse 41.21 40.78 43.15 41.26 3.76 3.20 4.07 3.58 Present Married, Spouse 2.07 2.02 1.77 2.01 1.27 0.78 0.56 0.95 Absent Divorced 0.21 0.19 0.19 0.20 0.39 0.42 0.42 0.41 Widowed 2.64 2.26 2.33 2.46 3.86 2.60 2.43 3.10 Never Married/ 53.87 54.76 52.56 54.06 90.71 92.99 92.52 91.95 Single N 7,154 5,307 1,585 14,046 15,963 15,591 6,389 37,943 Notes: “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. Although marital status is not reported for years 1860 and 1870, it can be identified by using the variable of SPLOC whether spouse is present or not. The proportions of spouse present for white male and female teachers were 34.4 percent and 6.8 percent, respectively, in 1860. The corresponding figures in 1870 were 42.3 percent and 4.5 percent.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 362 Table A-2: Changes in the Distribution of White Teachers by Gender and Relation to the Household Head: Only White Teachers Who Lived in a Nuclear Family Male Female Year 1860 1910 All Years 1860 1910 All Years Head/Householder 47.56 60.23 56.42 5.86 7.35 6.07 Spouse 0.00 0.00 0.02 6.07 5.24 4.33 Child 52.44 39.77 43.56 88.08 87.42 89.59 N 307 1,192 11,012 478 4,315 26,587 Note: “All years” include years from 1860 to 1910. Statistics for years between 1860 and 1910 are not shown because the trend line of the statistics generally connects statistics for the end years.

Table A-3: Changes in the Distribution of Teachers by Race and Region Black White Year 1880 1900 1910 All Years 1880 1900 1910 All Years Northeast 3.29 1.70 1.26 2.63 34.02 29.53 27.58 31.72 Midwest 10.05 8.24 4.19 8.56 43.17 44.24 39.70 42.75 South 86.54 90.06 93.92 88.66 19.09 19.51 21.81 19.71 West 0.12 0.00 0.63 0.15 3.72 6.71 10.91 5.82 N 1,642 1,056 477 3,235 23,117 20,898 7,974 54,477 Notes: “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. Because the sample sizes of black teachers are only 7 and 53 for 1860 and 1870, respectively, the starting year is 1880.

Table A-4: Changes in the Distribution of Female Teachers by Race and Marital Status Black White Year 1880 1900 1910 All Years 1880 1900 1910 All Years Married, Spouse 15.58 18.18 25.00 18.52 3.76 3.21 4.07 3.58 Present Married, Spouse 3.90 3.18 1.15 3.06 1.27 0.78 0.56 0.95 Absent Divorced 0.43 0.76 0.86 0.65 0.39 0.42 0.42 0.41 Widowed 5.77 6.36 6.61 6.17 3.86 2.60 2.43 3.10 Never Married/ 74.31 71.52 66.38 71.60 90.71 92.99 92.52 91.95 Single N 693 660 348 1,701 15,963 15,591 6,389 37,943 Notes: “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. Although marital status is not reported for years 1860 and 1870, it can be identified by using the variable of SPLOC whether spouse is present or not. The proportion of white female teachers who were married and living with their spouse was 6.8 percent in 1860, and the corresponding figure was 4.5 percent in 1870. The corresponding figures for black female teachers are omitted because their small sample sizes (2 in 1860 and 19 in 1870) prevent any meaningful analysis.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 363 Table A-5: Changes in the Distribution of Relation to the Household Head by Race: Only Teachers Who Lived in a Nuclear Family Black White All All Year 1880 1900 1910 1880 1900 1910 Years Years Head/Householder 38.99 31.64 23.33 34.10 22.71 19.34 18.79 20.82 Spouse 7.64 12.80 20.26 11.44 3.01 2.72 4.10 3.07 Child 53.37 55.57 56.41 54.47 74.28 77.94 77.10 76.11 N 1,126 844 390 2,396 15,503 14,879 5,507 37,599 Notes: “All years” include years from 1880 to 1910. Because the sample sizes of black teachers are only 5 and 31 for 1860 and 1870, respectively, the starting year is 1880.

References

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HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 365 The Journal: Cooperating Associations / Networks / Journals

QUANTUM (Association for Quantification and Methods in Historical and Social Research – Arbeitsgemeinschaft für Quantifizierung und Methoden in der historisch- sozialwissenschaftlichen Forschung e.V; founded in 1975) is devoted to the promotion of formal methods, especially of quantitative methods in historical social research. Address: QUANTUM, c/o GESIS, Unter Sachsenhausen 6-8, 50667 Cologne, Germany e- mail: [email protected]. INTERQUANT (International Commission of the application of Quantitative Methods in History; founded in 1980 within the International Congress of Historical Sciences) is devoted to the promotion of quantitative methods in the historical sciences on an international level. Address: INTERQUANT, c/o GESIS Unter Sachsenhausen 6-8, 50667 Cologne, Germany; e-mail: [email protected]. H-SOZ-U-KULT (H-Net mailing list for diverse subjects of social and cultural history / Sozial- und Kulturgeschichte; founded in 1996) offers a platform for scholarly discussions, announcements and reports on conferences and research projects, reviews, bibliographical information, special inquiries on historiographical subjects etc. Address: H-Soz-u-Kult, c/o Humboldt-Universität Berlin, Institut für Geschichtswissenschaften, Unter den Linden 6, 10099 Berlin, Germany; e-mail: [email protected] berlin.de; web: http://hsozkult.geschichte.hu-berlin.de. AFC (Association Française de Cliométrie; founded in 2001) is aimed at re-launching cliometrics in France and abroad, that is to say international research on quantitative history structured by economic theory and using statistical and econometric methods. Address: Claude Diebolt, CNRS, BETA (UMR 7522 du CNRS), Université Louis Pasteur, 61 avenue de la Forêt Noire, 67085 Strasbourg Cedex, France; e-mail: [email protected]; web: http://www.cliometrie.org/. AGE (Arbeitsgemeinschaft Geschichte und EDV; founded in 1993) is the German branch of the International AHC. Address: Kai Ruffing, Seminar für Alte Geschichte, Universität Marburg, Wilhelm-Röpke-Str. 6C, 35032 Marburg, Germany; e-mail: [email protected]; web: http://www.age-net.de. AHC (International Association for History and Computing; founded in 1986) exists to encourage and maintain interest in the use of computers in all types of historical studies at all levels, in both teaching and research. Address: Hans Jørgen Marker, Danish Data Archive, Islandsgade 10, 5000 Odense C, Denmark; e-mail: [email protected]; web: http://odur.let.rug.nl/ahc/. FQS (Forum Qualitative Sozialforschung – Forum Qualitative Social Research; founded in 1999) is a multilingual online journal for qualitative research. Address: Katja Mruck, FQS; FU Berlin, FB 12, WE 09, Habelschwerdter Allee 45, 14195 Berlin, Germany; e- mail: [email protected]; web: http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs/. HISTORICUM.NET is a scholarly electronic network for history and arts (i.a. thematic portals, electronic journals, reviews). Address: Gudrun Gersmann, Universität zu Köln, Historisches Seminar, Albertus-Magnus-Platz, 50923 Cologne, Germany; e-mail: [email protected]; web: http://www.historicum.net/.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 366 ZOL (Zeitgeschichte-online, founded in 2004) is a central online-portal and gateway which offers resources related to contemporary history. Address: Jürgen Danyel, Zentrum für Zeithistorische Forschung, Am Neuen Markt 1, 14467 Potsdam, Germany; e-mail: [email protected]; web: http://www.zeitgeschichte-online.de/. PERSPECTIVIA.NET, founded in 2008, is an international platform for humanities studies. It publishes new texts and book reviews originally online; publications by the institutes abroad so far only available in print will also be retro-digitalised and presented in electronic form with a relevant full-text search capability. Michael Kaiser, c/o Stiftung DGIA, Kronprinzenstrasse 24, 53173 Bonn, Germany, e-mail: Michael.Kaiser@stiftung- dgia.de; web: http://www.perspectivia.net.

The Journal: Archiving by Information Services

JSTOR (ITHAKA) is a non-profit organization dedicated to preserving and increasing access to scholarly journal literature. JSTOR has created a high-quality, interdisciplinary “trusted digital archive for scholarship”. The JSTOR archives include scholarship published in the highest-quality academic journals (incl. the HSR-Journal and the HSR-Supplement, moving wall: one year) across the humanities, social sciences, and sciences, as well as monographs and other materials valuable for academic work. JSTOR has created an electronic archive of the complete back runs of over 1,000 journals in 50 disciplines. More than 6,000 academic institutions and over 700 scholarly publishing organizations around the world participate in this endeavor (since 1995). Online: http://www.jstor.org/r/histsocres/. SSOAR (Social Science Open Access Repository / GESIS) offers scholars and scientists from the social sciences and neighbouring disciplines an organisational and technical framework in which they can make their documents electronically available. SSOAR includes HSR-articles from back issues (moving wall: two years). SSOAR is an open- access full-text server, SSOAR’s goal is to implement the “green road” to open access by providing users with free electronic access to journal article preprints and postprints and also to other document types. SSOAR saves, catalogues and archives scholarly and scientific electronic documents from the social sciences. These documents can be either born-digital publications or digitised versions of print works (since 2007). Online: http://www.ssoar.info/hsr.

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 367

The Journal: Coverage by Information Services

In recognition of “the high quality and relevance to the scientific community” our journal “Historical Social Research / Historische Sozialforschung” has been selected for coverage / archiving in the following databases: Social Science Citation Index (Thomson Scientific) provides access to current and retrospective bibliographic information, author abstracts, and cited references found in over 2,470 of the world’s leading peer-reviewed scholarly social sciences journals covering more than 50 disciplines (since 1956). Online: http://scientific. thomson.com/products/ssci/. SCOPUS (Elsevier) is the largest abstract and citation database of research literature and quality web sources. It covers peer-reviewed journals from international publishers (Social Sciences: 2,850 titles), including coverage of Open Access journals, Conference Proceedings, Trade Publications and Book Series (since 2004). Online: http:// www.scopus.com/. SocINDEX with FULL TEXT (EBSCO) is the world’s most comprehensive and highest quality sociology research database. It contains abstracts for more than 1,260 “core” (incl. HSR), 500 “priority” and 2,950 “selective” coverage journals. Further, extensive indexing for books/monographs, conference papers, and other nonperiodical content sources is included. Searchable cited references are also provided. It contains full text for 820 journals (incl. HSR, no moving wall). Online: http://www.epnet.com/. Sociological Abstracts (Cambridge Scientific Abstracts) abstracts and indexes the international literature in sociology and related disciplines in the social and behavioral sciences. Covers journal articles, book reviews, books, book chapters, dissertations, and conference papers (since 1963). Online: http://www.csa.com/. Historical Abstracts (ABC-CLIO) covers the history of the world (excluding the United States and Canada) from 1450 to the present, featuring coverage of academic historical journals in over 40 languages (since 1955). Online: http://www.abc-clio.com/. International Political Science Abstracts (SAGE) provides non-evaluative abstracts of articles in the field of political science published in journals (and yearbooks) all over the world (since 1951). Print: http://www.sagepub.co.uk. Social Research Methodology Database (SAGE / NIWI) provides references to literature on social and behavioral research methodology, statistical analysis, and computer software. Covers international periodicals, readers, research reports, congress proceedings, and books (since 1970). Online: http://www.srm-online.nl/index.htm. SOLIS (Social Science Literature Information System / GESIS) provides references to German social science literature – journal articles, contributions in compilations, monographs, and grey literature (since 1977). Online: http://www.gesis.org/en/ services/specialized-information/

HSR 38 (2013) 1 Ň 368 The Journal: Scope & Imprint

ISSN 0172 - 6404 Quadrat B2, 1 Unter Sachsenhausen 6-8 Schiffbauerdamm 19 68159 Mannheim 50667 Köln 10117 Berlin Phone +49 (0)621 1246-0 Phone +49 (0)221 476 94-0 Phone +49 (0)30 233611-0 Historical Social Research The Official Journal Cornel Zwierlein & Beatrice de Graaf (Eds.): of QUANTUM and Security and Conspiracy in History, 16th to 21st Century Historische Sozialforschung INTERQUANT This Special Issue combines both of the recently emerging fields – conspiracy and security history – for the first time by asking how we can conceive their parallel history from the Renaissance to the present. The new situation of international and national security regimes after the Cold War has not only placed security studies at the top of the Political Science agenda, but is also currently causing the emergence of a new field of security history. Likewise, Conspiracies and Conspiracy Theories have found a new great interest in the post- Cold War constellation, particularly following 9/11. There has been hitherto no attempt to conceptualize the development of Security and Conspiracy in a longue durée perspective. Remaining sensitive to the ancient and medieval forerunners, we nevertheless assume that both fully developed conspiracy theories and ‘security’ as a leading political aim are phenomena mainly found in modern history. Both can be treated as dispositives in a Foucauldian sense which challenge each other – real or imagined conspiracies are threats to the security of the state or the commonwealth. Both Security and Conspiracy need to be carefully historicized. This Special Issue offers a sketch of the supposed development of the combined dispositives throughout modern history in addition to a theoretical approach. The contributions combine case studies and methodological reflections from the Renaissance to 9/11 with a majority concerning the ‘high’ and ‘late modern’ periods since 1880. International pioneers, as well as young researchers in the field of conspiracy and security history, have contributed.

Der Büchsenschiffter

Special Issue: Security and Conspiracy in History

HSR Vol. 38 ISSN 2013

0172-6404 1 Special Issue: Security and Conspiracy 38 2013 HSR Vol. No. 1